


Circumstances

by GarnetSeren



Series: Atomic Anthology [8]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Consensual, Danger, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Ghouls, Light Angst, Male-Female Friendship, Mutual Pining, Negotiations, Oral Sex, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-05-28 04:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19386874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetSeren/pseuds/GarnetSeren
Summary: This is a collection of oneshots inspired by a very old prompt I saw a while back, that was along the lines of 'character/ghoul of choice - having sex because the character needs to smell like a ghoul to get passed a pack of ferals'. I thought it would be an interesting challenge, and the chapters are as follows:1. Courier/Raul Tejada2. Lone Wanderer/Charon3. Sole Survivor/John Hancock4. Courier/Dean Domino5. Lone Wanderer/Gob6. Sole Survivor/Edward Deegan7. Courier/Charon8. Sole Survivor/Wiseman





	1. Raul/Courier

Raul drummed his gnarled fingers lightly against the bottle of beer he'd been nursing for the better part of an hour. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he bothered coming out with Six... not the courier's real name, but she'd apparently had retrograde amnesia ever since she'd woken up after being shot in the head, and just couldn't remember what it was... when they were on the Strip. Sure, he liked her company. And sure, she looked beautiful in that pretty green dress she always wore to the casinos, that complimented her sun-blushed pale skin and her naturally auburn dreadlocks. The colour of her hair always reminded him of the Ancho Chilli powder they used to sell before the war, though he kept that observation to himself. Six didn't need an old ghoul coming on to her, she had enough men drooling over her as it was, which is why Raul never understood why he bothered agreeing to go for a drink with her in the first place.

Oh, it was nothing that Six did herself, since she always tried to pick a secluded table for them to sit, no matter what casino they decided to head to. At first, Raul was convinced it was because she didn't want to be seen with a ghoul... which kind of hurt, since he hadn't had her down for a bigot, especially considering the daring rescue she'd pulled off for him; and all because a super mutant had mentioned there was a ghoul enslaved up in the Black Mountains... but it didn't take long for him to see the real reason. Wherever they went, men flocked to Six. Not that Raul could blame them. Because not only was she sinfully sexy, Six was also a good person. She was sweet and funny, intelligent and open minded, and most astounding of all, she was cheerful and friendly. Which considering she still sported the _very_ obvious scar on her temple, from where she took a bullet to the brain, it had to be some sort of miracle. Because no one that had gone through what she had, should be such a nice person. But Six was. Though that wasn't to say she didn't have a mean streak, she had seduced the man who'd shot her just so she could kill him in his sleep. But once again, Raul couldn't fault her for that. Because who wouldn't want revenge after someone buried you in a shallow grave? Then again, he couldn't fault her for a lot of things, especially not the men that inevitably vied for her attention. Granted, Six was a complete flirt. Though considering she also flirted with _him_ , Raul was tempted to believe she didn't actually realise she was doing it. But still, having all these strapping young men falling over themselves to buy Six a drink, didn't make for a very relaxing evening.

“I'm going to head back to the thirty-eight, Chiquita,” he told her, leaning in so she could hear over the crooner on stage. “You going to be alright on your own?”

* * *

Hearing Raul's delicious voice so close to her ear, almost sent a pleasant shiver down Six' spine. She loved his Latin accent, especially when he slipped into Spanish. However, she still fought the urge to glare at him. There was no way she was going to left in The Tops casino alone; since the rest of their friends were off doing heck-knew-what somewhere else on the Strip. However, Six wasn't one to let people she didn't know realise when she was rattled, so she plastered on a smile as she whispered:

“Don't you dare!”

Raul seemed a little surprised by her reply, though he chuckled warmly as she downed the rest of her cocktail, and offered her his arm when they stood. There was a chorus of disappointed groans from the men that had invaded their dark corner of the bar, so Six gave them a wink over her shoulder as they walked towards the exit. Of course she spared a moment for Tommy Torini, and she exchanged kisses on the cheek with the Ace's Theatre manager, before she and Raul managed to make it to the staircase. The casino floor itself was easy enough to traverse, and they'd nearly reached the front door before Swank caught sight of her. Now, Six didn't actually mind the Chairmen's leader, since he was just as much of a good natured flirt as she was. But they had a habit of talking for longer than they normally intended, and she had a feeling that Raul was already feeling a little fed up; not that he'd said anything, he was always a gentleman. But he'd been pretty quiet ever since their table was invaded, so Six figured she owed it to him to get out of The Tops as quickly as possible.

“You're not leaving so soon, are you doll-face?” Swank asked, as he gently caught her hands in his.

“You know how it is, sugar,” she purred, batting her eyelashes. “No rest for the wicked. Got to head out early in the morning, so better pack tonight.”

“You're breaking my heart, baby,” he sighed, one hand slipping around her waist. “Don't be away too long, doll.”

“No promises, but I'll try my best,” Six demurred.

Swank reached into his trouser pocket with his free hand, before dropping a small pouch of caps into hers. “Make sure to treat yourself to something nice before you go.”

“You're too good to me, baby,” she flirted.

She pressed a fleeting kiss to the corner of Swank's mouth, before slipping out of his loose hold and finally heading for the door. Raul rolled his eyes at her, but Six only winked. She always flirted up a storm with Swank, both of them towing the line of what was acceptable in polite company. But although she would have been interested if anything came of their flirting, Six had seen the way the Chairman looked at Arcade... and visa-versa... so she wasn't going to go there and risk stepping on her friend's toes. Besides, she already had her eye on a certain Latino, not that she'd ever outright said anything to Raul; too worried that it would mess up their dynamic, if he didn't return her feelings. Though that didn't stop her from spending as much time with him as possible, or being as affectionate as she could get away with. So Six once again linked her arm with his, as they walked towards the Lucky Thirty-Eight.

* * *

Raul didn't read anything into the way Six pressed up against his side, her small hand absent-mindedly stroking the worn material of the old blue suit he wore. Still, it was nice having her pressed so close, even though there was no ulterior motive to her touch; Six was just very physical with her affection. She was all about hugs, platonic kisses, and casual hand holding. The first few weeks after he'd joined her merry band of misfits, Raul had been convinced Six was dating Arcade... or even Cass... considering the way they were always touching one another. But then he'd gone on that first night out to The Tops with everyone, and saw how the researcher looked at Swank, not to mention how the caravaner looked at the other Chairmen. After that, it wasn't hard to understand that Six was just a very affectionate person. _Mierda!_ Even Boone relented to her hugs, and he was the most stand-offish man Raul had ever met.

So he didn't let himself dwell on the fact that she held his arm all the way to the Thirty-Eight's elevator, nor about how she smiled at him softly, when he moved his hand to the small of her back, as he ushered her inside. He also pushed aside any inappropriate thoughts when she offered to share her bed for the night; after all, they were the only ones who were going to be up before the dawn, so there was no point in disturbing anyone else. However, trying to ignore the dark red negligee she wore to bed was a little harder to do, but Raul figured Six could wear a potato sack and he'd still find her sexy. So he lay on his side facing away from her, willing certain parts of his body to calm down before she noticed. Though that didn't stop a small smile pulling at his thin lips, as her back pressed up against his. Her pleasant coolness seeped through the thin t-shirt he wore to bed, and he fell asleep listening to Six' soft breathing.

* * *

They made surprisingly good time travelling down to Novac, despite the almost leisurely pace they walked because of Raul's 'old' knees... he never actually said exactly how old, and despite knowing he'd been around before the bombs, Six still didn't know what age Raul had been when he'd become a ghoul. Not that it mattered, especially considering she wasn't even sure how old she was, and had adopted Raul's response of “Old enough” whenever she was asked... but they reached the settlement by dusk on the second day, and decided to call it an early night; staying in the room she'd kept after the Jeanie-May fiasco. Six decided to make the most of the time, and managed a quick bath in the lukewarm water, before shimmying into the sexy sleepwear she'd purchased in the hopes that Raul would notice. It hadn't worked, but wearing it to bed had become more or less a habit, and she still felt good when the cool silk was against her skin. But true to form, the sharpshooter barely glanced in her direction, before he slipped into the bathroom.

Later, when he finally slid in to bed, his back only slightly pressed against hers. Six suppressed a sigh. Of course, _she_ could be the one to make the first move, but after her constant flirting got no results, Six figured Raul just wasn't interested in being more than friends. Which was obviously perfectly fine, and she was lucky to have such a loyal companion, but it did make sharing a bed with him sweet torture. So Six lay awake listening to his steady breathing well into the night, though still managed to wake up feeling somewhat refreshed when her alarm went off.

Dawn had barely broken by the time they left her tiny apartment, and their walk to the REPCONN site was uneventful enough to notice how the sky turned from an inky darkness, through several shades of purples, until it tinged pink as the sun started to rise. However, it was a completely different story when they reached the facility. It felt like they'd only just stepped foot into the grounds, when they were suddenly rushed by horde of ferals. Well, Six supposed it was more accurate to say _she_ was swarmed by them, since the shambling horrors seemed to completely ignore Raul. Which almost could have worked in her favour, since he was able to pick a lot of them off with quick and precise head-shots, but it still left her arms slashed to ribbons; because no matter how hard she tried, Six just couldn't find decent armour with vambraces, or none that actually fit her at any rate. Normally it wasn't so much of a problem, but then again, she'd never found herself facing so many ferals at once. Really, Six was pretty pissed off about it. Because when Manny had said 'ghouls', she'd imagined completely normal civilised people, not mindless ferals. And her mood only got worse, as several more groups of the horrors tried to swamp her, as they moved towards the facility's entrance.

Inside the foyer was just as bad, if not worse, since one of the monstrosities got far too close for comfort, and tried to bite her throat. Six managed to elbow it away from her, so she wasn't covered in blood splatter when Raul killed it with a single shot. She panted for breath, trying to calm her racing heart despite how woozy she was starting to feel, before they heard the telltale shuffle of more shambling horrors heading towards them. Six looked up at Raul in alarm, who manhandled her into a thankfully feral-free storage closet... that miraculously also had a working, albeit flickering, bulb... before he unceremoniously dug a hand into her pocket, and retrieved her bottle of Rad-X and a Stimpack. She grimaced as she dry-swallowed two pills, knowing they weren't going to help the rads she'd undoubtedly already soaked up, but hoped it would stop her actually being poisoned. Jabbing herself with the needle was even more unpleasant, and the feeling of her skin slowly knitting itself back together wasn't particularly fun either.

“ _Mierda!_ We have to think of some way to protect you, Cariña,” Raul muttered.

“Well tell me your secret,” Six retorted, only a little bitter. “Since they're ignoring you.”

“I don't know, never really thought about it before. Guess I smell similar to them or something,” he shrugged.

“Then I don't suppose you have a spare change of clothes hidden somewhere in those overalls, do you?” she teased.

Raul chuckled. “I'd offer to swap, but I don't think I'd fit in your armour.”

“Didn't think I'd be so lucky. Shit! Do you have any other ideas?” Six asked.

* * *

His heart hammered in his chest as he looked at her. He had _plenty_ of ideas of how to make her smell like him, though not a single one of them was appropriate. But then again, Raul supposed there weren't many options available to them, since he knew there was no chance of talking Six out of this crazy job; she was just too damned nice, and always refused to walk away if she could help someone. So he took a steadying breath, and hoped their friendship would survive this situation intact.

“The nicest way I can think to say this, is we need to get a little up close and personal, Chiquita” he stated, as neutrally as he could.

“Pressed up against me in a closet not close enough?” Six teased.

Raul huffed out a strained laugh. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“What's wrong, _veijo_? Can't admit you want to kiss me?” she smirked, before sobering. “Do you think it will work?”

He shook his head at the nickname... one of the few bits of Spanish she'd managed to learn so far... before capturing her small hands in his. “I'm not sure, but it's got to be worth a try, mi Querida. I hate seeing you hurt, and I can't think of another way.”

Six nodded, though her breath sounded a little shaky. “As long as you don't mind.”

“I'm more concerned about you,” Raul told her. “I understand the idea of being covered in ghoul saliva is less than appealing.”

“There's nothing unappealing about you,” she replied, her gaze unwavering.

"La loca,” he chuckled, fondly. “I promise to make this as endurable as possible.”

In all honesty, despite how steady his voice was, Raul was a mess internally. He'd lost count of how many nights he'd lain awake thinking about Six, about what it would be like to kiss her ridiculously full lips... and much more besides. So his heart was racing as he reached up to gently cradle her pretty face in his gnarled hands, her skin so smooth and soft, a stark contrast to his own burnt and pockmarked facade. There was a reason why humans thought ghouls hideous, with their skin withered and twisted thanks to the radiation burns that covered them head to toe; Raul knew this all too well, so couldn't believe how unphased Six was by the feeling of his warped skin against her cheeks. Of course he'd touched her before, but never like this, never so intentionally. He couldn't help lightly smoothing his thumbs across the fullness of her cheeks, his breath catching at the warm smile she gave him.

“Chiquita, te quiero besar,” he whispered.

Six tilted her head, obviously curious about what he'd said, but instead of giving her time to ask, Raul leant forward and brushed his thin lips against her cheek, before placing an open mouthed kiss in the same spot. His hands fell to her hips, as he trailed a path along her jaw to just behind her ear, then followed the column of her throat down to her collar bone. He ran his tongue slowly up the side of her neck, and winced when she shuddered slightly.

“Lo siento, Niña,” he murmered. “Desearía que esto fuera agradable para ti.”

Raul kissed and licked back along her jaw and throat, before paying the other side of her neck the same attention, though his mouth was momentarly dry, when Six arched ever so slightly; her ample bust pressing against his chest. His fingers twitched on her hips as he tried to remain focused, because as much as Raul would have liked to be doing this in far better circumstances, they were only in this situation to try get Six through this feral riddled facility in one piece. So he swallowed thickly, trying his best to coat his tongue in more saliva, before he gently caught her hands in his. He lingered longer than he'd ever dared before, and could feel slight calloses on her palms from the repetative handling of her shotgun, but they were nothing compared to how hard and twisted his skin was.

For a moment, Raul couldn't help wondering how strange he must feel to Six, but when she lightly squeezed his fingers, he was reminded he had a task literally at hand. So he raised her left one to his mouth, glancing at her briefly as he pressed his lips to her knuckles, only to find that her normally olive green eyes were slightly darker than usual, though he put that down to a trick of the flickering light; there was no use trying to delude himself into thinking... hoping... this was more than just a survival situation. So Raul closed his eyes, trying not to think of Six watching him as he turned her hand so he could place an open mouth kiss to her palm, then the inside of her wrist. His tongue flicked out to lap at her pulse point, and for a single heartbeat, Raul was certain he heard her gasp. But that was just an idiotic moment of hope, a stupid wish, so he concentrated on licking and kissing up and down her arm, before repeating the attention on her right. He placed one more fleeting kiss to Six' knuckles, as he finally stepped away from her.

“You okay, Chiquita?” he asked, quietly.

She nodded, though her voice sounded a little shaky when she replied: “Yeah... yeah. I'm okay... um... thank you. Gracias.”

“De nada,” Raul smiled, a little hesitantly. “Want to go out there and see if it worked?”

* * *

Cautiously, they crept out of the storage cupboard; Raul leading the way. Six kept relatively close, though far enough that she could weild her shotgun without impeeding his sharp shooting. They made it passed the reception and several twitchy ferals without incident, stepping over a dead Nightkin, before making it to the first floor. However, after turning the next corner, all hell seemed to break lose. Six was too preoccupied fighting for her life to stop and wonder why, but when she and Raul managed to find a small, thankfully unoccupied room with a lockable door and no holes in the ceiling or walls, she couldn't help thinking about it. Her best guess was that Raul's saliva had dried on her skin, and she asked for his opinion. He just shrugged, as he deligently checked her over for injuries... all of which were thankfully superficial scratches... before he insisted she take another dose of Rad-X.

“I know you're the boss, but it might be an idea to give up on this one, Cariño,” Raul said.

Six shook her head. “I gave my word.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But you can't blame me for at least trying to talk you out of this. Because I don't think saliva is going to work a second time.

“What if we used something more potant?” she asked, cautiously.

“I'd do almost anything for you Six, you know that. But I'm not a fan of volunteerily bleeding,” Raul stated, crossing his arms.

“I wasn't asking you to,” Six replied.

Her heart was pounding as she forced herself to meet his milky eyes. In all the scenarios she'd ever imagined propositioning him, this had never been one of them. Raul looked confused for a split second, before he outright stared at her... and ouch! Six had never recieved a look that clearly said 'are you crazy?' when hitting on someone before, and it stung. _Really_ stung. Still, she plastered on a smirk and raised an eyebrow for good measure, trying to hide how much his reaction bothered her. 

“I get I'm not your type, but you don't need to look so horrified,” she quipped. “I know you're a sharpshooter, but word of advice, a simple no is a much kinder way to shoot a girl down.”

“ _Mierda!_ Six... Chiquita... te deseo. Quiero cogerte. Quiero hacerte el amor,” Raul said, hurriedly, before catching himself. “Six... estás loca... esto es loco. We can't have sex.”

“Let me guess, I'm just a kid... right, _veijo_?” Six replied, forcing a smile. “Look. I'm not a fan of risking literally being caught with my pants down either, and it was probably a stupid idea, but I just figured come would be more potant than saliva. We didn't even have to have sex. You could have jerked off, or I could have given you a hand. But a no is a no. So forget I even mentioned it, and help me figure out an alternative way to get passed the ferals.”

* * *

Raul almost gaped at her, as he tried to wrap his head around what he was hearing... and realised a little belatedly that Six really had just propositioned him. Granted, it was so she could smell like a ghoul to avoid ferals trying to flay her alive, and not because she actually wanted him. But still, she propositioned him, which was something he'd never expected. Though of course that didn't make it right, since she was obviously under duress, which meant Raul wasn't going to let her do anything. However, that didn't mean he wouldn't help her.

“It's not a no,” he said, awkwardly. “It's just this whole thing is...”

“Pretty ridiculous?” Six supplied.

“I was going to say loco, but ridiculous works too,” Raul chuckled.

“How do you want to do this?” she asked, directly. “There seems to only be one unbroken chair in here, so I figured you could sit there but... what do you want me to do? Is there anything I can do to help... and wow. Feels weird asking that.”

“Don't worry, Chiquita. I'll manage,” he assured, smirking to hide his growing nerves.

* * *

Six sat with her back pressed against the wall, hunched over as she fiddled with her Pipboy, desperately trying not to think about how Raul was sat just a few feet away... masterbating. For her. She closed her eyes, wondering how the hell her life got to this. Not that she was neccasserily complaining about listening to his stuttered breathing, though it was hard to resist taking a tiny peak. But no. There was no way in hell she'd disrespect Raul's privacy like that. Especially when he'd been sweet enough to end up in this completely crazy situation, just in the hopes it would stop her being attacked the moment they stepped outside the room. But when his breathing turned into a frustrated sigh, Six nearly fucked up by glancing at him. However, she caught herself just in time, and buried her head closer to her bent knees.

"You okay?” she asked.

“Lo siento, Cariña,” he murmured, sounding ashamed. “I'm... struggling.”

“I'm happy to help,” Six said, trying to keep her voice steady. “After all, you're doing this for my benefit.”

“I won't subject you to that, Chiquita,” Raul replied. “It's just been a long time since I had an audience for this sort of thing. It might take a while.”

“You wouldn't be subjecting me to anything, _veijo_ ,” she told him, quietly. “I'd like to help... if you want, of course. But if you'd prefer we just forget it and try make a mad dash for it instead, then I understand.”

There was a long drawn out pause, before he all but whispered: “If you're sure.”

Six stood without looking up, shouldering her travelling bag as she headed towards the door. “Just let me know when you're ready and we can make a break for it... hope for the best.”

There was a sudden clatter of a chair being knocked over, before Raul rushed to her. Six turned instintively, catching the quickest glimpse of what he had below the belt, just visible thanks to the fact he'd unzipped and rolled the upper half of his mechanic's overalls down to his waist. But she forced her gaze upwards, taking in the faded black t-shirt that he wore under the suit, before she met his milky gaze. Raul almost crashed into her in his hurry, leaving the hand that had been loosely by her side, now pressed intimately against a very obvious part of his anatomy.

“I didn't mean like that, Niña,” he stated, his eyes searching her face. “I meant if you were sure you wanted to...”

His sentence tappered off into a breathy groan, as Six lightly ran her fingers up the covered length of him. She repeated the action twice more, trying not to smirk at how shaky Raul's breathing was, and instead focused on dipping her fingers beneath his overalls. Unsurprisingly, he was warm... almost hot... to touch. Six dropped the bag off her other shoulder, before leaning back against the wall, whilst Raul moved just enough to bracket her in; his palms pressed flat against the peeling plaster either side of her head. The length on him felt just as ridged and weathered as the rest of his skin... or at least what was on his arms and face... as Six wrapped her hand around him. His breath was warm as it skittered across her face, and it was getting harder to remember that this situation was just a 'fuck or get slashed to ribbons' scenario, rather than Raul wanting her. So when she looked into his milky eyes, Six hadn't been expecting the look of obvious affection he was regarding her with. It was so unguarded and adoring, that she had to bite her lower lip to stop herself from blurting out something stupid. Instead she focused on setting a rhythm as she stroked up and down, occasionally twisting her wrist in a motion that made Raul gasp.

“Chiquita... te adoro. Te quiero besar. Quiero que seas mío,” he murmured, his gaze intense.

“Can I kiss you?” she whispered, in a moment of madness.

* * *

Raul almost jerked away, stunned by her completely unexpected request. He searched Six' face, trying to figure out if she really meant what she'd said, or if it was a heat of the moment type of thing. But she just looked up at him, smiling sweetly, almost hopefully, and he came to the jaw-dropping conclusion that she genuinely wanted to. But just in case, Raul cupped her cheek... his breath hitching slightly when Six gently squeezed the length of him, before she continued her lazy strokes... then slowly, giving her plenty of time to turn away if she changed her mind, Raul leant into her. His lips brushed hers, feather light, until he felt the tip of her tongue cheekily flick against his thin lips. Unable to help it, Raul chuckled, before pressing another kiss to her soft lips, then another. He could feel Six smile against his mouth, a smile that only got wider, when his breath hitched as she gave him a twisting stroke. The softness of her palm was maddening in all the right ways, and so was her breathy little moan, when his tongue slowly coaxed hers into a languid dance.

He couldn't believe this was happening, that she wanted this, wanted him. Regardless of the completely loco situation that had brought it all about, Raul had never once believed that his late night imaginings could be real, that Six would genuinely be interested in an old ghoul like him. But the proof was in the way she arched up into his touch, as his hand slowly slid from her cheek and down her body, until his gnarled fingers were toying with the button on her jeans. Raul leant his other forearm against the flaking wall, bring their bodies closer together, even as he broke their kiss.

“Six... Niña... do you want me to...?”

“Please...”

That one breathy little word, coupled with the way she looked at him through her lashes, her olive eyes darkened with now unmistakable desire, shot straight to Raul's groin. He hunched over her, muffling a ragged groan against the column of her throat, and it only took a few more expert strokes, before he was spilling into her soft hand; which was quickly joined by her other one, as she tried to catch his release. Without thinking, Raul ran his tongue up her neck, once again making her shudder. But since it was accompanied by a soft moan, he quickly realised it wasn't repulsion that made her tremble, but desire. Six _wanted_ him, and Raul couldn't quite get his head around it. Though that didn't stop his hand once again finding the button of her jeans, and as he watched the unexpectedly erotic sight of Six rubbing his come across her chest and arms, Raul slipped his hand into her trouser; unsurprised that she wore nothing underneath.

* * *

Six gasped as Raul's textured fingers immediately caressed her most sensative bundle of nerves, and her hips rocked forward, chasing his touch. Without thinking, her hands clamped on to his shoulders, helping her stay steady, even as she widened her stance a little to give him better access. Never in a million years had Six imagined this scenario, despite the _many_ times she'd thought of Raul as she'd touched herself. He featured in every one of her late night fantasies, but as he slowly slid one, then two ridged fingers into her heat, Six realised her imagination hadn't done him justice. And coupled with the way he was placing sucking kisses against her throat, she couldn't help the drawn out moan that escaped her.

“Chiquita, do you trust me?” Raul murmured against her skin.

“You know... I... do...” she panted.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered into her ear. “I want to try something I think you'll enjoy.”

Six nodded without thinking. After all, she trusted Raul literally with her life... as he did her... so trusting him with her pleasure wasn't hard to do at all. However, she whined a little pathetically when he carefully withdrew his fingers. He chuckled, warm and a little bit smug, before he kissed her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers as he slowly pushed her jeans down to her mid thighs. Six presumed Raul had just wanted more room to manouver, since his clever fingers were soon back to circling her sensitive bundle of nerves. His ministrations made her hum in approval, though that quickly turned into another low moan, as two fingers easily slid into her core.

“Tu Me Vuelves Loca, Querida,” Raul said, quietly. “Let me please you.”

“You are,” she gasped.

Six tried to pull him back in for a kiss, but Raul just brushed his lips against her, before pulling away. She was about to ask him if anything was wrong, though quickly noticed he was slowly sinking to his knees. Just the sight of Raul kneeling in front of her made Six' heart race, but then he leant forward and his tongue quickly darted out to lick her most sensitive bundle of nerves, at the exact moment he crooked his fingers inside her _just so._ The moan that escaped her lips was positively obscene, not that Raul seemed to mind. If anything, it spurred him on. He lapped at her lightening fast, caressing that spot inside her just as quickly. Six grabbed fistfuls of her own dreadlocks, just for something to hold on to, as a familiar warmth began to build. And when Raul's lips closed around her in a sucking kiss, Six was sent crashing over the edge.

* * *

Raul couldn't help pressing feather light kisses to Six' temple and cheek, as she leant against him, catching her breath. He'd straightened both of their clothes as she came down from her release, and had pulled her into a warm embrace; just wanting to buy a little more time with her, before she told him this was a one time... albeit wonderful... thing. But when Six pulled away, instead of letting him down gently, she leant up to press a lingering kiss to his eager lips. She giggled against his mouth, as he wrapped his arms around her slender waist and squeezed her gently. Raul wanted to ask where they went from here, whether that was it, or if she wanted to do this again... preferrably somewhere less fraught with danger... or if maybe she was crazy enough to actually give him a chance to be something more than just a friend with benefits. But the words caught in his throat when her small hand gently cupped his withered cheek.

“Thank you,” Six smiled, sweetly. “I think we might need to talk... about this. But maybe we should get out of here first, try get this job done, then head back to Novac.”

“Sounds like a plan, Chiquita,” he replied, his smile a little more reserved.

Reluctantly, Raul stepped away, and watched as Six bent down for her bag, then adjusted her clothing and headed for the door. However, she paused before unlocking it, and for a moment, he assumed she was just hesitant to face the ferals again... in case their plan didn't work. Though that thought was quickly quashed, when Six whirled back around to face him, her hand bunching in the fabric of his overalls, before she dragged him to her. And even though her lips pressed to his almost chastely, Raul understood the unspoken emotions behind the hard press of lips. So he kissed her back just as intensely, and couldn't help smirking at Six' pleased smile, as she pulled away to finally unlock the door. They stepped out into the corridor cautiously, their weapons drawn just in case. There were several ferals nearby, but not a single one paid them any mind. Though they kept their steps slow and deliberate, not wanting to make any sudden movements or noise; just in case. However, their plan genuinely seemed to be working.

Six cautiously swapped her shotgun for the 9mm pistol she'd taken from Benny when she'd killed him, whilst Raul kept his finger on the trigger of his .44 magnum revolver. But as they made steady progress through the facility, and found a door with an intercom... that was answered by an unmistakably ghoulish voice... he couldn't help reaching for her free hand with his. Their fingers entwined as they waited for the door to be unlocked, and he smiled as she lightly squeezed his fingers. So call him loco, but Raul got the impression Six might just be as invested in seeing where this thing between them could go, as he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish enderments/phrases:  
> Chiquita - little one  
> Mierda - shit  
> Cariña - [my] sweetheart  
> Veijo - old [man] (oddly a term of enderment)  
> Mi Querida - My Darling  
> La Loca - Crazy [woman]  
> Te quiero besar - I want to kiss you  
> Lo siento - I'm sorry  
> Niña - Baby girl  
> Desearía que esto fuera agradable para ti - I wish this was enjoyable [nice] for you  
> Gracias - Thank you  
> De nada - You're welcome  
> Te deseo - I want you  
> Quiero cogerte - I want to fuck you  
> Quiero hacerte el amor - I want to make love to you  
> Estás loca - You're crazy  
> Esto es loco - This is crazy  
> Te adoro - I adore you  
> Quiero que seas mío - I want you to be mine  
> Tu Me Vuelves Loca - You drive me crazy


	2. Charon/Wanderer

Charon didn't know what to make of his latest employer. The smoothskin had breezed into his life a month ago, with as much subtly as an unpinned grenade. She'd bought his contract, actually gave him an understanding smile after he'd blown Ahzrukhal's brains out, picked up the thousand caps she'd paid for him, and led him out of Underworld as quickly as possible. It had been late in the evening when they'd left, so the smoothskin had asked his opinion on where was best to set up camp. It hadn't been an order but a question, which had seemed odd and made Charon wary, but he'd given his opinion and she'd surprisingly taken him at his word. There'd been no hidden test or trick to deceive him, which he'd honestly suspected. Their camp that night had been meagre but strategically placed, and once they'd set several traps around the perimeter, the smoothskin had outright shocked Charon when she'd tried to hand him his contract. She'd seemed horrified when he'd explained the deal couldn't be broken, nor the document destroyed, that he was bound to it for life. Obviously he'd dutifully advised her of how she could be rid of him, should she not want his services. But then the smoothskin had stunned him further, by stating that as long as _he_ was amiable to staying with her, she'd do her best to make the situation as comfortable as possible for both of them.

He'd been more than a little dubious about it all, because no one had ever cared for his comfort and preferences before, but Charon had still given his employer his token agreement; because it made the most tactical sense, never mind the fact he couldn't disobey her anyway. Back then, he'd thought her young and naïve, and doubted she could even heft the hunting rifle she carried strapped to her back. He'd wondered if she was a little scatterbrain too, since she hadn't even given him her name... not that he had any right to know it, since she was his employer regardless. So he'd called her “mistress”, though she quickly asked him not to. And once again, it was a request not an order, which was confusing. But deciding it best to stay on her good side, Charon had tried “ma'am”. She'd shook her head but hadn't commented on it, and a few days later when they'd arrived in Megaton, he discovered a few people there like the Sheriff also called her that, which explained her preference... or her begrudging acceptance, which somehow seemed more likely. Though from what he'd witnessed, everyone in the town seemed happy to see her. She appeared to be well liked and respected, and Charon filed those details away, since it was always a good idea to collect as much information on an employer as possible.

That evening she'd taken him to the local saloon, where he'd been genuinely shocked to see another ghoul working behind the bar. However, Charon wasn't surprised at how badly the patrons treated the guy, or the fact he flinched when he caught sight of him; since it meant that the other ghoul had definitely come from Underworld and knew his reputation. But what did phase Charon, was his employer storming over, and pulling a combat knife on the jeering bastard that was giving the bartender the most hassle. His whole body had tensed as he watched the five foot nothing woman square up to the relatively tall, dark skinned mercenary, expecting to have to put himself bodily between the pair to protect her. So Charon was stunned when the man held up his hands in surrender, and simply slunk off to a dark corner of the bar. And after that, the surprises just kept coming. Since his employer then reached over and _touched_ the bartender's arm, the moment she'd sheathed her blade. Charon couldn't believe what he was seeing, because humans didn't touch ghouls, unless they were trying to abuse them. But there was his objectively pretty employer, resting her hand on a ghoul's arm like it was natural to do so. And if he didn't know better, Charon would have said they were friends. Though that couldn't be right, because humans didn't associate with ghouls unless they had to. However, the bartender called her “smoothskin” to her face, and merely got a smirk in reply. The ghoul's tone might have even been called affectionate, whilst his employer's whole manner was relaxed and friendly. So Charon had dared to push his luck, and called her the same when she'd beckoned him over. But instead of the reprimand he'd honestly expected, she rolled her eyes and bought him a beer. Needless to say, the name had stuck.

They'd only stayed in Megaton for the night, and had set off into the nearby hills the next morning. Charon hadn't asked questions, but the smoothskin had explained she needed to head to a vault, _her_ vault. He'd been genuinely surprised by that revelation, because during the two days they'd spent travelling from Underworld, his employer had earned his begrudging respect; since she wielded her rifle like it was an extension of herself, and she'd been shockingly adept at sneaking through both super mutant territory and the old metro tunnels. She seemed far too savvy to be a vaultie, though Charon kept that thought to himself. He didn't asked her any questions about why she'd left, partly because he wasn't actually interested in the details, but also because his past employers had never wanted him to speak unless spoken to, so he didn't see the point in trying with the smoothskin. But as they made their way through the place, Charon had learnt more about his employer than he'd expected to, though surprisingly not her name. Since the few people they encountered called her 'Red', presumably due to her copper coloured hair. The only exception was a young man in a leather jacket... that matched the one his employer had worn when they'd gone to the bar... who called her “Doc”. And even without the tight hug they gave each other, it would have been obvious the two were on good terms, despite the lip the guy had given her. But that had been weeks ago. Since then, they'd travelled to Rivet City... the young man tagging along, since he'd insisted on leaving the vault when Charon's employer had been banished, despite the fact she'd essentially saved the place from imploding... and traversed what felt like half of the Capital Wasteland.

During that time, the smoothskin had only issued six orders: speak his mind whenever he wanted, let her know if there was something he wanted or needed, make himself at home in her house, give her tactical advice if he thought she needed it, let her know if he was injured, and to try not to get hurt whenever the contract demanded he protect her. As orders went, Charon couldn't say they were bad ones, though having such a lax leash took a lot of getting use to. It was often confusing, since her methods and mentality were completely at odds with every other employer he'd even had. But the smoothskin was fair, both with him and in her dealings with other people. She was helpful, polite, and seemed to avoid situations that would bring her bad karma. She was also loyal, though not just to her friends and the people of Megaton, but also to him; since the first time they'd encountered the Brotherhood together, she'd pulled her side-arm pistol on a Scribe who'd called him a zombie. Once again, Charon had expected to need to put himself directly in the path of harm's way for his employer, but one of the tin-can's comrades had frantically whispered that she was “The Lone Wanderer”, before the pair had made hasty apologies and fled. It was that encounter which prompted Charon to really start paying attention to his employer as a person, rather than simply focusing on the task of keeping her alive.

He'd naturally heard about the 'Lone Wanderer' and her exploits, since the GNR was the only radio station Ahzrukhal had allowed in his bar. Charon had been impressed as he passively listened to the stories, but he'd never put two and two together. Because regardless of the fact that he'd never bothered trying to image what the 'Lone Wanderer' looked like, Charon would never have pictured a short woman, who wore scavenged armour with the old faction's emblem crudely scratched off. Who's copper coloured hair was always pulled into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, who's big grey eyes never looked well rested, and who had enough curves to make it obvious she hadn't grown up in the Wastes. And three weeks on from learning who his employer was, Charon still didn't know what to make of her. However, despite not having made his mind up about her, she had given him an order to always speak his mind, and give tactical advice if he thought she needed it. So he only hesitated a moment, before he reached out and pulled her back into the shadows of the tunnel they were crouched in.

* * *

Hope startled when Charon's large hand wrapped around her forearm, and tugged her backwards until she almost collided with his solid chest. She couldn't really see much of him or anything else in the dim light, but she could just about make out the sheen of his eyes in the gloom, so she tilted her head in his direction and waited for him to speak. However, instead of saying anything... which wasn't a total shock, since Charon was a man of few words anyway... he reached over for her left arm, or more precisely, her Pipboy. She'd shown him how to use it in the first few days of travelling together, so he quickly brought up the map, which prompted Hope to swallow thickly. There were an awful lot of red dots; too many, in her opinion. It seemed Charon must have felt the same, because once he was sure she understood what he was trying to tell her, he started to scroll through the local map. Despite being unsure what her companion was looking for, Hope pointed out a seemingly unoccupied storage room, situated a little ways back down the tunnel they'd traversed. For the briefest second, she felt him gently squeeze her wrist in silent confirmation, before he gave her a light shove in that direction. Taking the hint, Hope led the way to the small room and picked the lock with ease. They were both on high alert as the door slowly swung open, but when not even a radroach scuttled out, they entered the room together. Charon did a quick sweep looking for any potentially lurking ferals, but other than a few crumpled cardboard boxes and a steel desk that was missing it's chair, there was nothing at all in the room but them. Satisfied they were safe, Hope relocked the door, before illuminating the small space with her Pipboy's torch.

“Thoughts?” she asked, without preamble.

“Ferals,” Charon answered, succinctly.

“Fuck...” Hope muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Any ideas? Because we'll be overrun if we try take them head on, and I don't fancy doubling back with those super mutants lumbering about out there. Unless you think it's the better option?”

“Not with our current ammo,” he replied, crossing his arms.

“I know you've got something on your mind, Charon,” she told him. “You know I'll listen.”

“Ferals have poor eyesight, but keen sense of smell and hearing. You need to smell like one of us.”

Hope shuddered. “I wish you didn't say things like that, you're nothing like those creatures.”

Charon grunted, but ducked his head ever so slightly, in a way that made Hope think he was embarrassed... or at least bashful... since it was a gesture that normally only happened if she paid him a compliment. It was actually rather endearing, which was not the first thing you normally thought when encountering a nearly seven foot ghoul, but Hope couldn't help it. Because beyond the gruff attitude and outwardly intimidating presence, Charon was a very sweet man, not that anyone would ever believe her. But Hope saw it in the way he insisted on cleaning her weapons and armour when he tended his own, something that wasn't in the contract; Hope should know, she'd outright studied the fragile piece of paper for weeks. It was also in the way he'd remind her to eat and drink, or made her rest when she was running herself ragged. Oh, Charon tried to play it off by stating it was 'the contract', but other than keeping her safe from harm, there was no mention of him having to think of her comfort.

“Close enough for them to think we smell alike,” he stated.

“You smell nothing like them!” she said, appalled by the notion. “I think I'd have noticed if you smelt like rotting flesh, we've been living together for long enough.”

Charon gave a non-committal grunt.

“Maybe it's some sort of pheromone?” Hope conceded, cautiously. “I'm not trying to discredit you, I just hate the whole 'ghouls could turn into ferals', and the rest of the bigoted bullshit. Because, you know, it's a medically unsound argument. That's not how radiation works.”

* * *

Despite his best efforts, the corner of Charon's mouth twitched with the urge to smile. It wasn't the first time he'd heard her so vehemently defend ghouls, but it was always... nice, to hear the conviction in her voice. However, the past few weeks had already taught him that his employer could talk at length when she felt passionately about something, and despite how charismatic the smoothskin was, debating the topic wasn't going to come up with a solution. So after taking a subtle steadying breath, Charon grabbed her biceps as gently as he could and looked at her intently, using the same method he'd seen people like the Megaton sheriff and Rivet City's security chief do; hoping to calm her down. She shut up immediately, and unexpectedly flashed him a sheepish smile that Charon found surprisingly... cute, regardless of the fact it was completely inappropriate to have those sort of thoughts about his employer.

“I know, I know... focus Hope,” she said, giving a self-depreciating chuckle. “Not the time or the place. So... ferals. Any ideas?”

“Hope. That's your name?”

Honestly, Charon hadn't meant to ask that question aloud; because not only was it completely irrelevant to their situation, but she was his employer and her word was law, so it didn't matter what her name was, he was bound to her orders regardless. However, the words slipped out before he could bite them back. Though really, they were more or less startled out of him, because Charon had never suspect that she would have such a frivolous name. However, considering what he'd seen of her so far and the jobs she'd taken him on, he had to admit that despite his habitual wariness, the name did sort of suit her. She certainly seemed to inspire hope in the people she helped, and perhaps begrudgingly in him as well.

“Yeah...” she said at length, rolling her eyes. “Nothing like saddling a kid with a name that comes with high expectations, huh? Though I guess my parents were both kinda dreamers. Not sure if it was Dad's choice, or if he was honouring what Mom wanted, since she died giving birth to me. But yeah... Hope. I'm not exactly fond of it though, so whilst I'm not banning you from using it, I'd really prefer if you didn't.”

Charon gave her a succinct nod. “Whatever you say, smoothskin.”

“Thanks Charon, I really appreciate it,” she stated, tucking some errant wisps of copper hair behind her ear. “But anyway... the ferals. What's your plan? Because I know you've already thought of one.”

“You need to smell like a ghoul,” he repeated.

“You want me to slather myself in feral blood?” she asked, visibly shuddering.

Charon shook his head. Because whilst the thought had crossed his mind, there was too much risk of infection when it came to blood. Since even though ghouls... of either the sentient or feral variety... couldn't 'turn' a human into a ghoul through cross contamination, there were still infections like hepatitis and viruses like HIV to consider. Which left Charon with only one viable option to suggest to his employer, and the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to broach the subject with her. Because what smoothskin in their right mind would willingly cover themselves with ghoul semen? Not to mention the problem of _how_ they'd cover her in his ejaculation in the first place, or the fact Charon hadn't a clue how to go about phrasing something like that, without it sounding like he was propositioning her. He certainly wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad thing, that if it had been any employer other than Hope, he wouldn't have even mentioned it was an option. Since the contract only demanded he kept the holder safe in combat situations and attempts on their lives, as well as following their orders; it didn't push him to think up outlandish solutions to problems, especially without his employer ordering him to devise a plan.

“Cross contamination,” he stated, gruffly.

“At least we're on the same page about that,” Hope replied, not quite meeting his eye. “I have an idea, but I want you to understand it's not an order. I'm just going to speak my mind and I'd like your opinion on it, but that's all I'm expecting. Your opinion. Is that okay?”

“As you wish,” Charon answered, his gravelly voice hiding his sudden nerves.

“If I need to smell like a ghoul...” she said, at length. “Your semen should contain enough amines to achieve that, and the glandular secretions from the prostate and bulbourethral would mean it stayed viscous, which could make the scent last longer compared to say, saliva.”

Shock and relief warred for dominance inside him, almost overwhelmingly so, and Charon couldn't do more than simply look at her for a long, drawn out moment. It certainly made it easier for him, now that she'd elegantly broached the subject, though he hadn't been expecting her to come to the same conclusion; or not so quickly, at least. But then again, he supposed Hope was a doctor's daughter, who'd been expected to follow in her father's footsteps. So Charon supposed he shouldn't be too surprised at his employer immediately trying to find a scientific solution to their problem. It also explained why the smoothskin had seemed so hesitant to talk about it, and why she felt the need to insist nothing was an order prior to speaking. But it was... nice, that she'd thought to be so mindful, since it wasn't beyond imagination that she _could_ order him to cover her in semen; although the notion was incredibly unlikely, that didn't negate the fact that she held the power over him.

“I'd reached a similar conclusion,” Charon admitted, forcing himself to meet her eyes.

* * *

Hope took a step closer to the towering ghoul, and after a moment's hesitation, she rested her hand on his scarred and twisted forearm, that was left bare by his combat armour. Charon flinched... ever so slightly... beneath her touch, and she immediately retracted her hand; she didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than the situation already had, so she settled on remaining close to him, but clasped her hands behind her back, to stop the temptation of reaching for him again.

“Is it... is it something you'd want...” Hope broke off, shaking her head before taking a deep breath and locking her stormy gaze with his. “Would it be something you'd be comfortable doing?”

“Yes,” he replied, sounding like it was forced between clenched teeth.

She shook her head again. “Doesn't sound like it, so we'll forget about it.”

“Smoothskin,” Charon rumbled. “I had already reached the same conclusion. It is fine.”

“No it's not,” Hope argued, vehemently. “That damn contract means I have no idea if you'd even be able to say no, it's why I've never....” She snapped her mouth shut and once again shook her head, as if it would chase that line of thought away. “Besides, sex under duress is rape, and potential death by feral is duress. So unless you can look me in the eye and give me enthusiastic and believable consent, then there's no way it's happening.”

* * *

The corner of Charon's mouth twitched to smile again. None of his other employers had ever cared about his wants and feelings, not even when their safety wasn't in question. It made a foreign warmth settle in his chest, just like every other unexpected kind gesture the smoothskin did for him. It was the type of thing that made him _want_ to protect her, above and beyond what the contract forced him to do. It was the type of thing that made his mind wonder late at night. It was the type of dangerous thing that made him feel like a man, instead of the weapon he'd been turned into. And that was all before Charon took into consideration his employer's aborted sentence. Those four little words sparked something inside him, some tiny glimmer that he'd been trying to trample, after every kind and thoughtful gesture his employer gave him. Because each time Hope did something nice for him, she'd always state he deserved it, constantly insisting he was a person of value. Someone who mattered, someone to be respected. Charon had never fully believed her, too used to two centuries of enduring the opposite, and he'd assumed it was nothing more than her trying to treat a slave like a freeman. Though after those four little words, he couldn't help wondering if there could be more... something pleasant... that fuelled her actions towards him.

“What haven't you done?” he asked, bluntly.

“It doesn't really matter,” she evaded. “It's nothing important.”

“I... would like to know,” Charon stated, cautiously.

Even after the month he'd spent at her side, being able to voice his wants and opinions was still such a novel... and sometimes daunting... notion. His employer had always made the attempt to reassure him that he could ask anything, say anything, and she wouldn't punish him; including the few occasions he'd been downright rude or even callous without really meaning to be. She'd always been remarkably patient with him, insisting that although she didn't understand how difficult the adjustment to this new way of life was, that she could appreciate that it would take him time to adapt. At first Charon had been wary, even a little resentful, of the smoothskin with her calm and caring nature. But he'd grown use to Hope over the weeks, and despite still not being sure what to make of her, he accepted that there didn't seem to be anything malicious behind her actions. Which meant he was even more curious about her aborted sentence; a feeling that was only heightened, when she started to fiddle with the ends of her shoulder-length hair that'd fallen out of it's bun, as if she was embarrassed.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to say no to you?” Hope asked, presumably rhetorically.

“Should I apologise?” he said, deadpan.

His employer huffed a laugh and shook her head. “It's my problem, not yours,” she started, before her smile faltered. “Charon... just... if you really want to know, just remember I'm only saying this because you asked, okay? I'm not hinting at anything, I'm not expecting anything, and I was perfectly content to keep my mouth shut about this. Okay?”

Charon nodded and crossed his arms, hoping to hide the fact he was starting to feel nervous, and second guessing himself. Did he really want to know what she'd left unsaid? He wasn't sure. But he was certain that if she didn't tell him, he'd drive himself crazy wondering what she was hiding from him.

* * *

With her heart suddenly racing, Hope took a steadying breath and met his icy gaze. For a moment, she continued to idly braid a few strands of her copper coloured hair... a nervous habit Jonas and Butch had always teased her about... before she shoved her hands into the pockets of her combat pants, trying to resist the urge to play with the stray bottle cap she found there. Honestly, she didn't know why she was suddenly so nervous. It wasn't like she was some blushing virgin, who'd never admitted to being attracted to a guy before. But somehow, as she looked up at Charon's scarred and rad-burnt face, Hope couldn't ignore the butterflies that decided to swirl around her stomach. Somehow, this felt almost monumental, and not just because of the blasted contract that was hidden under a floorboard in her bedroom. Charon was important to her, she genuinely cared about the ghoul and wanted to do right by him, which surpassed the fact he was bound to her by a piece of paper neither of them truly understood. But he had asked, and Hope felt like she owed him the truth.

“I find you incredibly attractive,” she admitted, fighting the urge to break eye contact.

Charon gave a huff of... something. Though it was probably more of a scoff, since it was obvious from his suddenly rigid posture that he didn't believe her. Perhaps he even thought she was making fun of him, and Hope couldn't bare the thought of it. Because sure, his ghoulish features weren't exactly handsome; what with the way his skin was withered and pockmarked, and even missing in several places, revealing hardened muscle and twisted tendons. And sure, his patchy ginger hair and the white cast to his eyes were more reminders he wasn't human. However, that didn't detract from his attractiveness... and surprisingly, neither did his missing nose.

“I'm serious!” she instead, her fists clenching inside her pockets. “It's your height and broad shoulders. It's your strength. It's your arms. They're just so... mmm... yeah, don't get me started on your arms.” She chuckled, a little self-consciously. “Then there's your voice. No one's voice should be that fucking sexy. The gravelly quality it has should be illegal.”

“Crazy Smoothskin,” Charon replied, sounding suspiciously fond.

“That's just what I find physically appealing. I could list several things about your personality that I find attractive too,” she stated, perching on the desk. “But you're already calling me crazy, though personally, I think developing a crush on my friend is about the most normal thing I've done lately.”

“Friends?”

Hope shrugged, starting to feel a little foolish. “I consider you one at least.”

* * *

Charon's feet moved on their own accord, until he was close enough that his thighs knocked against her knees. She tilted her head back to look up at him, but she didn't recoil like he'd feared she would, when he leant down to place his palms either side of her hips. They were so close that their noses would be touching, if he hand one. His lips twitched with the urge to smile. When Hope had first said she found him attractive, he couldn't decide if she was just blatantly taking the piss out of him, or if she was saying it in some misguided attempt to be kind. But as he watched her pupils dilate, until her stormy eyes were more black than grey, it seemed she really did find him attractive; which was a lot to take in. It made Charon feel off kilter and far out of his depth, so he decided to stick to safer ground when he told her:

“I've never had a friend before.”

“Well for what it's worth, you have me,” Hope stated, quietly. “So I hope you realise I'm not expecting anything from you. I only told you because you asked, and I've managed to keep myself in check for the past four weeks, so you don't have to worry about me jumping you.”

He almost recoiled in shock. Four weeks meant that his smoothskin had found him attractive since she'd bought his contract and freed him from Ahzrukhal, which certainly made him look at their initial encounter in a whole new light. Because when Hope had first stepped foot in the Ninth Circle, she'd done a double take, almost staring at him. Back then, Charon had presumed she was intimidated from encountering a ghoul as tall as he was, but to think she'd been looking at him like he was a man... Charon struggled to believe it; regardless of the fact he'd thought her pretty from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. But where Hope was concerned, that wasn't a hard feat. He doubted there was a person alive, human or ghoul, who wouldn't find her attractive. Yet here she was, admitting that she was attracted to _him_ of all people. Charon couldn't help the low chuckle that escaped him, his employer... his friend... really was crazy. But her revelation made him wonder if perhaps there was a chance for them to be more than friends, at least behind close doors; because there was no way he'd subject her to the sort of prejudice that would happen, if rumours of them ever got out. 

“I'm interested,” he stated, trying to soften his normally gruff tone.

Hope blinked at him, clearly surprised. “You are?”

“Cautious,” Charon admitted, daring to brush his fingers against her hip. “But interested.”

“If you genuinely feel that way, we should probably have a proper chat once we're out of these tunnels and safely back home,” she replied, smiling slightly.

“You know the plan,” he stated.

“I said no, not unless you could give me enthusiastic consent,” she countered.

Hope had remained nose to nose bridge with him throughout their conversation, but when he didn't immediately reply... too busy trying to think of how he could convince her... she began to pull away, almost curling in on herself. Charon hated it. Because despite the fact his mind was racing trying to process everything that was happening, he didn't want Hope to feel like she had to hide away from him. So he only hesitated for a split second, before gently grabbing her wrist and guiding her hand to press against the growing bulge in his combat trousers. If that wasn't proof he wanted this, wanted her, Charon didn't know how he was going to prove it.

* * *

Hope's eyes widened slightly, pleasantly surprised by both his forwardness and what she could feel beneath her palm; it seemed height to length ratio wasn't a myth after all. However, she still wasn't sure if Charon really wanted this... wanted her... so Hope began to gently massage him through his trousers. She hadn't expected the groan that slipped passed his pressed together lips, or the way he let his head drop to rest against her shoulder, presumably so he could watch her hand rubbing against him. It gave her an idea. Very slowly, Hope dragged her palm along the outline of his length, skimmed over the pant's scratched button, before trailing her fingertips along the waistband.

"Can I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

A smile tugged at her lips, but Hope couldn't help it. She'd barely done anything, and Charon already sounded close to wrecked; his already gravelly voice taking on a cracked quality. So without thinking, she turned her head just enough to press a lingering kiss to his temple, as she skilfully popped open the button and slowly drew down the zipper. Charon sucked in a breath as his length sprang free, and Hope wasted no time in circling him with her right hand. The skin was just as withered and twisted as the rest of him, and almost hot to touch, but Hope couldn't help smirking at the weight of him in her hand. She gave his length a languid stroke... hoping to ease Charon into it... working from tip to base and back again, trying not to wonder how long it had been since someone had touched him for his pleasure. He groaned softly as she continued her ministrations, which prompted Hope to cup Charon's cheek with her free hand, silently asking him to look at her, which he did.

“Can I kiss you?”

* * *

Whatever Charon had been expecting when his smoothskin had gently touched his face, that wasn't it. The groan that escaped him was almost obscene, and the one that followed thanks to a particularly amazing twist of her wrist wasn't much better, but he didn't care. Because Hope... his friend... his _lover_... was looking at him like he was something important, touching him like she'd only ever seen him as a man. So Charon didn't even think when he surged forward, his thin lips pressing without finesse against her ludicrously plump ones, and his left hand tangled in her copper locks, pulling it fully from the loose bun. His right clamped on to her hip, subconsciously kneading, as her tongue slowly traced the seam of his lips. Charon didn't even need to consciously think before granting her silent request, though he nearly huffed in amusement, when he could taste nuka-cola and mentats on her tongue. All the while, Hope continued her almost maddeningly sedate strokes; it was almost as if she was more bothered with his pleasure than achieving her goal... Charon's brain almost ground to a halt on that thought, as he belatedly realised that was _exactly_ what his smoothskin was doing. In fact, his whole body froze, and he only came back to the present when he felt Hope slowly pulling away from him.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, gently.

“You're trying to please me,” he countered, almost accusatorial.

Hope frowned at him. “Well... yeah. Unless you want me to stop.”

“But... why?” Charon asked, before grunting in annoyance at his own stupid question. “Why aren't you concerned about getting it done quickly?”

“Because you deserve better than that,” she replied, her stormy eyes looking sad. “Because as long as you're willing, I want to make you feel good.”

Charon's answering groan was almost a growl, and he couldn't help pulling his smoothskin back to him by tugging on her belt loops. Hope slid forward, her legs parting to let him close the distance between them. Instinct guided him as he kissed her hungrily, his hands blindly searching for and opening the fastenings of her trousers. Charon was just about to drag them down her toned legs, before he realised he hadn't asked. But then Hope was lifting up her hips, and for a fleeting moment he wondered if that was consent enough. However, she'd been so considerate of him, that Charon couldn't ignore it.

“You sure, smoothskin?” he mumbled against her distracting lips.

“Definitely,” she replied, sounding a little breathless.

A chuckle escaped him before he could bite it back, and Hope shivered. Charon pulled away from her, concerned he'd upset or startled his smoothskin, but the look in her stormy eyes quelled the worry. He swallowed thickly at the way she regarded him, need and want so evident it made him want to growl possessively. But he bit it back; Hope looked at him like he was a man, and he wasn't about to jeopardise that. So he settled on kissing her breathless, their tongues warring for dominance as he dragged her underwear down with her trousers. Once again, instinct guided him as his hand trailed over her bare hip and soft thigh, until his rough and twisted fingers brushed her apex. Hope gasped immediately, her back arching ever so slightly. Charon barely resisted the urge to simply stare at her. He couldn't believe how responsive she was... how willing. He slid first one, then a second finger into her heat without resistance, marvelling that she obviously wanted him, and at the way Hope trusted him so intimately. But as he experimentally crooked his fingers, her hand flew out to grab his wrist.

“Charon. I want... can we... do you...?”

She gave a frustrated groan, prompting him to press a gentle kiss to her forehead as he carefully withdrew his hand. He couldn't believe that even in the middle of pleasure, Hope was still so concerned about how she worded her request, and Charon understood that she was doing her best not to give him an accidental order. It was a heady realisation, knowing that his smoothskin genuinely cared for him. It made some long buried part of him want to drop to his knees, and worship her. But not only was it not the right time or place, Charon also had no recollection of ever doing that sort of thing before, and would prefer to be somewhere safe and comfortable for Hope, whilst he took his time learning what she enjoyed. But since that was currently out of the question, Charon took her hands and helped her off the desk, pausing to give her as sweet a kiss as he could manage, before turning Hope until her back was against his chest. It seemed she understood without him needing to find the words, because she immediately braced her forearms against the scratched surface. It wasn't the perfect angle, and Charon had to bend his knees in order to line himself up, but they moaned in unison as he slid to the hilt.

* * *

“Fuck...”

The gasped word slipped out before Hope could catch it, but honestly, she didn't care. Charon felt amazing; the gnarled texture of his skin added something that she'd never had with another human, not to mention how his length and thickness left her feeling deliciously full. Hope dropped her head forward to rest on her arms, desperately needing to move but not wanting to go faster than Charon was ready for. So she blew out a shaky breath, as his hands flexed against her hips.

“Are you... okay?” he asked, suddenly, his voice tense.

“Wonderful,” she breathed.

Hope felt more than heard Charon sigh in relief, and she smiled to herself, touched that he'd been worried he'd hurt her; another hint at the sweet nature that hid beneath his gruff exterior. She so desperately wanted him to move, to pleasure them both, but he remained motionless... apart from the length of him that twitched inside her. Hope contracted her inner muscles without really thinking, dragging a broken groan out of Charon, as he all but collapsed over her. His arms bracketed her in place, and she could feel his warm chest against her back, as he leant over to press his lips just behind her ear.

“I wont last,” he grumbled, quietly.

“That's okay,” she assured. “We'll have time when we're home. If you want...”

“Yes.”

She hadn't really expected a reply, and chuckled at Charon's uncharacteristically enthusiastic rumble. Or started to chuckle at any rate, since he chose that exact moment to draw back, before thrusting forward in a powerful stroke. Hope's laughter morphed into a long moan, as her fingers scrambled for purchase on the desk. The angle was perfect to hit the _exact_ spot that made her toes curl, and if they'd actually had the luxury of time, she was positive that Charon would have no problem making her climax. However, they both knew that despite it being their first time, it wasn't a chance for indulgence. So Hope silently vowed to at least go take care of her needs the moment they were home... whether or not Charon wanted to join her... just as he hurriedly withdrew from her. A moment later, she felt something warm splatter against her lower back, before she straightened up and glanced over her shoulder at her new lover. Charon's hands were firmly clamped over the tip of his length, catching what was hopefully their ticket out of there. So Hope pressed a kiss to his withered cheek, then quickly pulled up her underwear and trousers, before she leant back against the desk again. Charon's cupped hands reached for her, almost hesitantly, before he slowly began to smear his release across her chest and arms. His large hands slowly slid around her waist, smearing his come up her lower back. Hope's nose wrinkled at the feel of it, causing Charon to chuckle as he righted his own clothes.

“You ready, smoothskin?” he asked, actually smirking at her.

Hope rolled her eyes, but still pushed up to press her lips against Charon's. He flinched slightly, clearly not expecting the gesture, though when she moved to pull away from him... an apology at the tip of her tongue... his sticky hands cupped her face, and drew her closer. Their kiss was slow and far sweeter than Hope had ever imagined Charon could be, and when her eyes fluttered open, she found him regarding her with affectionate surprisingly evident in his gaze. It made her lean in to steal one more kiss.

“As ready as I'll ever be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Anon reader asked if I would consider expanding this scene, the resulting oneshot can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676629/chapters/49848989


	3. Hancock/Sole

When he'd heard Finn threatening a new comer to his good city, Hancock had sauntered over to put the bastard in his place once and for all, as well as help the newbie out. He was expecting to see one of the regular drifter types, or maybe a fellow ghoul looking for a break, so Hancock certainly hadn't prepared himself to see a gorgeous redhead that looked liked she'd stepped off one of the pre-war billboards. He'd almost swallowed his tongue as his gaze raked over her figure, that was surprisingly well defined by the white shirt, black slacks and suspenders she wore. A fade black trilby was tilted just slightly to the side, obscuring one of her olive green eyes that were lined with perfect black Kohl, and her auburn hair that hung in the braid over one shoulder. Her lips were full and tato red, her skin shockingly pale and seemingly damage free. In short, Hancock was itching to at least take the woman for a drink; the fact she was just casually sharing a smoke with Nick Valentine of all people, genuinely looking bored whilst Finn tried to shake her down, made him want to take her to bed. She captivated him from the moment he'd laid eyes on her, and the fact she'd blown Finn's brains out when the schmuk tried to attack him... well, that pretty much sealed the deal from him.

But Hancock was the mayor of Goodneighbour, a notorious and roguish lady's man. He had an image to protect. So he gave her the usual welcome speech, and couldn't help the smirk that pulled at his ruined lips, when she blatantly gave him a once over. However, he wasn't expecting the feline smile she gave him in reply, or the fact that she pressed her plush lips to his withered cheek with a murmured word of thanks, before she linked arms with the synthetic detective and sauntered away. But then again, there was a lot of things Hancock hadn't expected when it came to Nora. Like the fact she was a bona fide pre-war vaultie, or that she was Nick's new business partner. Nevermind the fact that Nora had apparently never encountered a ghoul who wasn't feral, until she'd laid eyes on him. Hancock had also never expected to fall in with her, or to suddenly take off from his mayoral duties on a spare of the moment decision, or to become one of her closet confidants; though naturally the feeling was mutual. Well... that was a bit of a lie, since after roaming the Commonwealth with Nora for the better part of four months, Hancock was fairly certain he was half way to being in love with her. But still, none of that prepared him for the situation they currently found themselves in.

* * *

When Nora had asked Hancock if he was up to going on a scavenger hunt in the old MedTec building, she'd already scouted part of the place. She'd originally gone with MacCready, who was desperately looking for a cure for his little boy... something that obviously touched close to her heart... but when they tried to infiltrate the building, they'd only managed to clear the first floor before Nora dragged Mac out of there. Because whilst she hated ferals, the poor sod was absolutely terrified of them. Though really, he wasn't just terrified; because after living with Nate since Anchorage, Nora knew the signs of PTSD and MacCready was a textbook case. So she'd taken him back to Goodneighbour, partly because she knew Daisy would keep an eye on him for her, but also to see if Hancock was up to accompanying her on the job. Because there was simply no way Nora was letting Mac go back in there, but there wasn't a chance that she'd let his son suffer when there was something she could do to help. She also knew that Hancock shared her soft spot for the mouthy mercenary, and they both cared about him like a bratty younger brother neither of them had realised they wanted. So the mayor hadn't hesitated in grabbing his shotgun, and after only packing the minimum supplies he'd need, they set off for the facility.

They'd actually made short work of MedTec's upper floors, but as they started to descend to the lower levels, things went from tricky, to bad, to worse. And after the last gruelling fight, they were sat on the floor of a small control room, that was thankfully feral free and had enough intact furniture that they'd been able to barricade the doors on either side of the room. It wasn't comfortable and the torch from her Pipboy barely illuminated the box like space. But it gave them adequate protection for Hancock to help Nora ease her arms out of the faded trench coat she'd taken to wearing... or had. It wasn't much use now it was shredded to ribbons thanks to the ferals; her arms didn't look much better. However, that didn't stop Nora from trying to protest him using their last two Stimpacks on her, but Hancock was just as stubborn as she was, as well as unflinchingly honest. So when he'd played dirty and admitted he was worried about how much blood she was loosing, nevermind the increased risk of infections or radiation poisoning with open wounds, she'd caved and let him inject her. He followed that up by producing a bottle of Rad-X from his own coat pocket, and Nora was genuinely touched, and opened her hand so Hancock could shake the pills onto her palm without comment; after all, he'd blatantly only brought them for her benefit, since radiation healed ghouls. So after downing the pills along with a bottle of nuka-cola, Nora didn't hesitate to settle into the mayor's open arms, her back to his lithe torso and his arm wrapped across her chest. A weary sigh escaped her lips as she tilted her head back to rest on his shoulder. Despite the Stimpacks, she _hurt_.

“You alright there, Sunshine?” Hancock asked, his thin lips brushing the shell of her ear.

Nora smiled at the nickname he'd taken to calling her recently, and the fact that he knew her well enough not to offer any of the copious chems he had stashed on him; because although she wasn't against using them, Nora personally didn't like the feeling of being out of control. And after so much had already been ripped from her, she didn't relish the thought of putting herself in that situation. Hancock knew and respected that, and his easy acceptance was what had made him one of her favourite travelling companions. Though the outright sex appeal he oozed was certainly an added factor. Because even though Hancock wasn't the most handsome man Nora had ever encountered... not considering the burnt and twisted skin, the missing nose and partially fused ears... he was undoubtedly the sexiest. There was just _something_ about him that drove her to distraction, the way he carried himself and the intriguing depths of his onyx eyes, and that was before she'd discovered what a sweetheart he actually was.

“Just feeling my two hundred and thirty years right now,” she replied, before she tiredly raised her arm to check her Pipboy. “And the map reckons we've got three more floors to go still.”

* * *

Hancock grit his teeth at the news. They'd burnt through their supplies far faster than they'd anticipated, and if they hadn't been so close to their end goal... that just happened to be something that could save the life if their friend's little boy... he'd have seriously suggested they simply retraced their steps and left. He hated seeing Nora hurt, and every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was how she'd swayed on her feet after the last encounter, her arms so damaged that she could barely heft her shotgun. He'd actually growled when the last feral had lunged at her, and he'd insisted on carrying her to their tiny sanctuary, as he was terrified she was about to keel over from blood loss. So knowing they had three more levels to traverse set Hancock on edge. It wasn't even like he could do much other than blast the fuckers that tried to swarm her; because no matter what he did, ferals just ignored him. And as that thought crossed his mind, an idea struck; because maybe there _was_ something he could do for her, if she agreed.

“Hey Sunshine, I... think I have an idea how to get through the rest of this place,” he told her, cautiously.

“There's no way I'm letting you go on without me,” she stated, not even looking at him. “What if there's more than just ferals down there?”

“Hadn't even crossed my mind,” Hancock chuckled, honestly. “And even if it had, I knew you'd say no.”

Nora tilted her head so she could look up at him. “Now that's cleared up, what's your plan Mr Mayor?”

“Since ferals seem to just ignore us ghouls, I think you need to smell like me,” he replied, glancing at her.

“You just want to see me wearing your clothes,” she teased, before becoming serious. “I'm not saying I don't believe you, but I don't think just wearing your coat is going to help much.”

“It won't,” Hancock agreed, solemnly.

“Then... what?” Nora asked, frowning.

Without a word, he held up the hand of the arm that'd been wrapped around her, before using his free hand to slip his switchblade out of his boot. Hancock expected Nora to understand his intention immediately, which she did, and he also anticipated the look of horror that flashed across her beautiful face; after all, _he_ wouldn't want to be smeared with his friend's blood either. But Hancock couldn't think of another way to get Nora to smell like him... well, none that would keep their friendship intact anyway. Besides, with the amount of radiation that was buzzing throughout the building, whatever cuts he had to make would heal quickly enough.

“No,” she stated, scrambling to her knees. “No, no, no. I'm not letting you do this.”

“Sunshine... making you smell like me is the only plan we've got,” he countered, offering her a reassuring smile.

“That's not the part of the plan I have issues with,” Nora replied, unexpectedly lacing their fingers together before lowering their hands. “I can't... I won't let you hurt yourself for me.”

“What's a little blood between friends?” Hancock asked, keeping his tone light. “Besides, there's no other way.”

“Yes there is,” she continued.

Hancock's mouth went dry at the realisation of what Nora was suggesting, and his heart started racing. It would be a lie to say he hadn't had... impure thoughts about her since the day they met, but they were friends. She was perhaps his best friend, and Hancock didn't want to ruin their friendship just because he'd been lusting after her; or pining for her, if you asked Fahrenheit. So he shook his head. As much as he wanted Nora, he'd rather bleed for her than what he suspected she was suggesting. Because Hancock knew that if they went down that road, even though it wouldn't mean anything for her, he'd be fucked for life.

“Wouldn't expect that sort of lapse in judgment from you, Sunshine. You don't want to be getting up close and personal with this mug, no one does. It's why I approach all my dalliances from behind,” he replied, punctuating the sentence with a wink for good measure.

“John...” Nora sighed, before hanging her head. “Don't. Please. You're not interested in me like that, I get it. But fuck... you'd rather maim yourself than sleep with me. I mean... just wow.” She paused just long enough to get up and walk towards one of the barricaded doors, not even glancing at him once. “Just forget about it, okay. I have a Stealthboy left, so if I'm quick and lucky, I might get down there and back before it runs out. Just... keep an eye on my exit, if you wouldn't mind? Then once we get back to Goodneighbour, I won't bother you again.”

Stunned, truly and utterly stunned, Hancock couldn't do much of anything other than stare at Nora's back; his mind frantically trying to catch up with the mental gymnastics that she'd done to get them there. But he was so utterly lost. One minute he was trying to protect the tiny fragment of his heart that Nora didn't already hold in her hands, and the next... well, Hancock really was struggling to figure out what had just happened. He was convinced he'd either had too many or too few drugs, because this shit just didn't make any sense. But what _did_ make it passed the haze, was the fact that Nora didn't think he wanted her... which was absurd... and the fact she was pretty much preparing for a suicide run. So even if he wasn't her friend, nevermind besotted with her, Hancock would have stopped her from doing something so reckless; even by Nora's standards. However, if he hadn't been madly in love with her, he might have come up with something better than storming over to Nora, roughly grabbing her shoulder to spin her around to face him, so he could crash his ruin lips to her ridiculously plush ones.

* * *

Nora was reeling. One moment she was fighting back tears... devestated about Hancock's rejection and the fact she'd inevitably die before getting Mac the cure for his boy, or managing to rescue her own son... the next his mouth was locked with hers, and she was fighting the urge to moan when his tongue began a languid dance with hers. She could taste a faint hint of grape mentants, and smell the scent of gunpowder and old books, as her hands bunched the lapels of his jacket and roughly pulled his body flush with hers. Nora hadn't expected to feel the hardening length of him pressing against her thigh, nor did she imagine Hancock backing her up against one of the filing cabinets they'd blocked the door with. And unable to help herself, she rocked herself against him, startling a low groan out of him. Hancock pulled away then, and for a moment Nora expected him to apologise and say it was a mistake, but he started to trail maddening open mouth kisses along her jaw until his thin lips were caressing her ear.

“I've wanted you the moment you stepped into Goodneighbour,” he whispered, his tone low and full of promise. “The amount of impure fantasies that go on in my head because of you... I want to fuck you senseless, until all you can do is writhe in pleasure and scream my name. I want to make you come around my fingers, with my tongue, then finally my cock buried deep inside you.” Hancock kissed his way back along her jawline, before pulling away slightly to cup her face in his gnarled but warm hands. “And then I want to make love to you, Sunshine. Over and over again. As many times as you'll have me, whenever you'll have me. You're fucking _everything_ to me, Nora. The only reason I said no, is because I knew I'd be fucked for life. One taste of you wouldn't be enough. I need you, Nora. I fucking love you, and everything about you, with everything I have. But I'm just some washed up junkie who tries to play the hero. I...”

Whatever Hancock was about to say, Nora cut him off by surging forward and capturing his lips with hers, whilst deftly reversing their position. She almost slammed him against the filing cabinet, and would have felt guilty, if it wasn't from the broken sound he moaned against her mouth. It shot straight to her core, and for once, Nora refused to over think things. They'd have time to go slow later, time to take each other to bed and indulge in discovering everything that made the other gasp and moan and squirm. But right then wasn't the time and certainly not the place, so she contented herself with kissing him breathless; whilst her skilled fingers made short work of the flag that he wore as a belt. She popped the buttons on his trousers, before she dropped to her knees, and if she'd thought his earlier moan was delicious, the one Hancock gave as he met her eyes when she looked up at him through her lashes was something else entirely. So Nora carefully tugged his trousers low enough for his length to spring free, then without wasting another moment, her lips closed around him.

* * *

Hancock's hands slammed against the metal filing cabinet, the moment Nora took him into her mouth. His fingers scrabbled for purchase of the smooth metal, torn between reaching out to touch her, and not daring to risk moving in case it made Nora change her mind. However she made the decision for him, as she reached out to catch his gnarled hands in her barely calloused ones, before guiding him to rest them either side of her head. However, Hancock did nothing but lovingly brush away the errant strands of hair that was escaping the bun she'd tied it in, so he could watch with rapt attention as Nora worked him expertly with her mouth, tongue and even the back of her throat. And it was that last thing that had him hurtling towards his release at an embarrassing speed, the fact he could feel Nora's throat constricting around the end of his length, whilst she had no reaction other than to hum in satisfaction, mischief clear in her captivating eyes, as if she was amused at how quickly she'd driven him to the edge; though as Hancock pulled her off him as gently as he could, he easily conceded she'd earned the smug smirk she gave him, as he swore loudly whilst his release coated her throat and chest.

After that, the grace Nora moved with when she got to her feet, broke something in him. Something that was completely shattered as he watched, transfixed, as she smeared his come across her upper torso and shoulders. It really shouldn't have been erotic at all, but he couldn't help being turned on again just watching her move. However, since he wasn't quite ready to go again, Hancock made short work of slipping her suspenders off her shoulders, unfastening her slacks, then pushed the once black material down to her mid thighs. He couldn't help groaning when he realised she wasn't wearing underwear; the minx would be the death of him. However, as much as Hancock wanted to bury his face between her gorgeous thighs, removing enough clothes to be able to do so would leave her far too vulnerable, given the situation they were in. So instead, Hancock settled for pulling her closer; one arm wrapping tightly around her waist, whilst his other hand cupped the apex of her thighs. His own heart raced when he discovered how aroused she'd become, and he easily pushed two fingers into her heat, whilst his thumb began to draw almost frantic circles around her most sensitive bundle of nerves. And from the way Nora threw back her head and moaned, her back arching as she clung to him, Hancock was certain she'd never been with a ghoul before and hadn't expected the extra sensation that his twisted skin could give her.

“The minute we're somewhere safe with a bed, I am going to take my time,” he murmured, as he kissed the column of her neck. “Or even just a sofa. I'm going to devote _hours_ to worshipping every inch of your skin, Sunshine.”

“Only if... I get... to... return the... favour...” she panted.

Hancock grinned against her skin, inhaling the scent of gunpowder and hubflowers, as he crooked his fingers _just_ so. He knew she hadn't been expecting it, as Nora clung to him whilst her whole body tensed. He repeated the action, rubbing that spot inside her with the same fervour he circled her bundle of nerves with. And although he'd known she was close by the way she trembled against him, Hancock hadn't expected her to muffle her release by crushing her plush red lips against his ruined ones, or the fact her eyes remained locked with his as he gently coaxed her through the after shocks; he swallowed thickly at the intensity of her gaze.

“I didn't expect any of that,” she whispered, grinning.

Honestly, Hancock hadn't expected Nora to look at him at all, nevermind with the obvious affection she was regarding him with, whilst they remained so intimately close. No one else ever had, not that he could blame them. But then again, he knew no-one else would make his heart race like Nora did, though that did little to keep his nerves at bay.

“No regrets?” he asked, with forced cheer as they righted their clothing.

“That we didn't do it sooner,” Nora replied, without missing a beat.

Chuckling, Hancock tilted her head so he could press a soft kiss to her unresisting lips. “We've got all the time in the world to make up for it, Sunshine, once we're out of here.”


	4. Dean/Courier

Dean was not one for chivalrous acts, at least not after the two hundred years he'd spent languishing in the Sierra Madre. But there was just _something_ about his pretty ball and chain, his beautiful ace in the hole, that made him want to be a gentleman. Or at least as much of a gentleman as the post apocalyptic world allowed him to be. So he'd gallantly offered to escort her back to the the Vegas strip, after the whole debacle in the casino was finished. And if his motives were more along the lines of wanting to try to charm her enough to see more of that gorgeous, richly coloured skin of hers, than actually being worried for her safety... since it was more than obvious that she could look after herself... then that was between the pair of them, Dean supposed; especially considering the way her distractingly full lips had smirked at him when he'd suggested accompanying her.

He guessed he was being more than a little transparent, since they both knew she didn't need his protection, but a feisty woman like her was always going to make him putty in her hands; he'd never liked timid wallflowers, even back before the bombs. His partner didn't seem to mind, and arguably had even encouraged him in fact, since she'd flirted with him just as much as he had her, as they'd made their way through the godforsaken villa. He'd even stood exposed on a roof top just to fix a cable, for heaven's sake, making himself a prime target for the ghost people, all because she'd pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and promised she'd be back for him. And surprisingly enough, she'd meant it. It could have been almost romantic the way they'd ran to the casino, their hands tightly clasped together... like she wasn't bothered by his skin being gnarled and burnt from radiation... if there hadn't been the very real risk of being ripped apart by the ghost people who were hot on their heels. But just as everything else since he'd first come to the Sierra Madre, things had not gone smoothly. They'd been knock unconscious upon entering the casino and Dean had woken up backstage at the Tampico, with his partner nowhere in sight. And really, that was the only word for her. She was his partner, considering the way she'd worked with him every step of the way... the way she'd _laughed_ when he'd informed her of the explosives under the chair he'd directed her to sit in... and the way she kept coming back for him, time and again. Because she'd quickly tracked him down at the theatre, and seemed genuinely relieved that he was all right; the way she'd nearly knocked him over as she'd rushed over and hugged him tightly, when she'd finally managed to get backstage and join him in the wings where he'd been trapped, was sort of a give away. Even the starlets of his time hadn't been that good an actress.

If Dean had been just as relieved that she was alright, and not just because their bomb collars were linked, that was definitely for him alone to know; even if he'd lost himself for a moment, and pressed his ruined lips to the prominent scar just above her left temple... that oddly only enhanced her allure... before she'd released him. He still hadn't really trusted her then, not with over two hundred years experience of needing to look after himself, but Dean had the odd suspicion that his pretty ball and chain would have come for him even without the collars necessitating it. However, when she made it so he didn't need to go wasting his time wandering around the ruined casino, Dean started to change his mind. Because she'd come out of the vault along with the scarred woman who now spoke like Vera, both carrying heavy looking bags, that he soon discovered contained the valuable loot from the vault. Thirty seven solid gold bars, as well as a few weapons and what looked suspiciously like a black silk evening gown. Dean would have raised an eyebrow if he had any left, and couldn't stop his mind wondering what his beautiful ace in the hole would look like in the gown; fixating on how the silk would look against her rich skin tone. And with that in mind, he couldn't help wondering if her eyes were really the bitter chocolate colour they appeared to be in the oppressing red gloom of the Sierra Madre, or would the Mojave sunlight turn them into a warmer hickory brown. From there, his mind progressed to thinking about what she might have looked like, if she'd been alive before the bombs. Would she have still kept her black hair clipped short, or would she have let it grown out into an afro, or perhaps worn it weaved into braids? Would she have favoured red or purple lipstick, or maybe gone for a metallic brown gloss?

Dean was only roused from his meandering thoughts, when the women dropped their bags at his feet, and she'd outright told him the gold was his, though insisted she was taking the dress. He'd been taken aback, too stunned to comment, and it wasn't until he watched her hug the scarred woman goodbye, that he'd regained his wits and offered to escort her back to Vegas. She'd given him that distracting smirk of hers, making her full lips seem even more kissable, and accepted his offer. They departed immediately, and as they'd travelled, she'd told him everything about the Mojave as it was now; and insisted on travelling during the twilight hours, because she was actually concerned at how he'd adapt to the bright sunlight, regardless of the prescription sunglasses he'd worn since before the bombs. So they'd travelled during dawn and dusk, where the sky was either painted with pinkish hues or streaks of violet and indigo, with stars visible during the later. Once again, it could have been quite romantic, if not for the heavy bags they were lugging around. It had gotten to the point they were literally dragging them along the dusty ground, when his pretty ball and chain had suggested they head to the small apartment she had in Novac. Apparently she had a safe there and a good friend was one of the town's guards, so his gold... according to her it was his, though Dean considered it _theirs_ , since they were partners... would be secure. It was then that he'd realised he did actually trust her, and knew she wasn't going to try fleece him. But with that decided, it still took them two days to make what should have apparently been only a twelve hour journey.

When they arrived, Novac hadn't been quite as run down as Dean had expected. Everyone seemed surprisingly friendly, and the only comment made about him and his distinctive looks, was her friend stating that for a moment he'd thought she was travelling with Raul. She'd been kind enough to later explain this Raul was a 'dear friend' of hers, obviously a ghoul like himself, and the only person she trusted to maintain her weapons. Which considering they were all unique custom pistols, that had utterly stunning craftsmanship in every detail, Dean could appreciate why she'd only want someone she trusted to look after them. After that, their conversation turned to their plans for Vegas, with her offering him a bed in the suite she had in the Lucky Thirty-eight, of all places. Obviously Dean accepted without hesitation, even after she'd warned him that this Raul also lived there permanently, along with a robodog, and warned him that they had several friends who regularly stayed with them. After all, it was free accommodation that came with the added bonus of being able to spend time with her, without their lives being on the line for a change; not to mention the fact that she'd promised to introduce him to the manager at The Aces club. So with that decided, they set off at dawn and made good progress, ironically spending the day avoiding the sun in a solar plant, before setting off at dusk, and arriving at some sort of trading outpost a few hours later. Unfortunately, there were no beds left. His partner's shoulders had sagged at the news, and apologised to him like it was somehow her fault, before quietly stating she knew of a deserted shack not to far away. Though when they got there, Dean couldn't help thinking she'd been a little charitable calling the ramshackle building a shack; it was a lean-to at best. But it had a roof and three half walls, so he supposed it would offer them some sort of meagre protection from the elements, until they were ready to set off again at dawn. So like the chivalrous gentleman he was, Dean insisted he'd keep watch.

* * *

Six' eyes shot open the moment she felt a hand settle on her shoulder, though remained perfectly still. She kept her breathing deep and even, whilst her fingertips subtly crept towards the knife she always slept with under her pillow, whether she was on the road or not. She'd been paranoid ever since miraculously waking up from taking a bullet to the brain, and kept herself hyper vigilant. Perhaps she'd been that way before the sleaze ball tried to kill her, but Six had no way of knowing. Her entire life from 'before' had literally ended the day the bullet had ripped through her frontal lobe, so she supposed Benny had gotten his wish, since he'd killed the person she'd been. But none of that mattered right then, when she had adrenalin pumping through her veins, as her intuition tried to decide between fight or flight. But then the hand squeezed her shoulder briefly, before gnarled fingers gently caressed the side of her throat, and she immediately knew it was Dean. For a moment, her body started to relax, until she realised that he'd only be waking her if something was wrong. And as her eyes adjusted to the inky darkness around them, Six quickly realised why. They were completely surrounded by ferals, far too many for just the two of them to take on with their pistols. Thankfully, the walking corpses were still far enough away that they hadn't been noticed yet; or _she_ hadn't been noticed, Six supposed, since she'd travelled enough with Raul to know the shambling horrors didn't bother the lucky bastard. Over time they'd worked out a system for dealing with going anywhere that was known to have ferals, which pretty much consisted of Raul carrying a spare set of his own clothes that Six could change into. It wasn't a hundred percent effective, but nine times out of ten the monstrosities didn't realise she wasn't a ghoul, since they relied on scent and sound to find their prey instead of sight. However, Dean didn't have a spare change of clothes that she could borrow, since they'd fled the Sierra Madre without going back to the residential district, and his physique was too broad to allow them to simply swap outfits. They needed a plan. Fast. Six had some ideas, but they all hinged whether her 'partner' genuinely gave a shit about her.

“Dean. I need you to lay on top of me,” she hissed, cautiously turning on to her back.

“Pardon?”

“They're ferals. The won't bother you but they'll tear me to pieces,” Six whispered, urgently. “You have to camouflage my scent with yours.”

Dean took his eyes off the walking corpses that were shuffling about them to look down at her, and even in the wan moonlight, she could see the exact moment whatever retort he was going to say died on his tongue. Six swallowed nervously. She always tried to keep it together for the sake of her companions, so if he was regarding her with a look of worry... that was obvious even through his sunglasses... she knew her usual confident facade had slipped; she just hoped she didn't look as petrified as she felt. But regardless of whatever Dean saw when he looked at her, he did actually move to straddle her thighs. Six' heart hammered in her chest as he slowly leant down to brace himself above her, though she did her best to keep her breathing slow and steady, matching it to Dean's in the hopes that his breaths would mask hers. And almost of their own volition, her hands bunched the lapels of his tuxedo, and Six knew he'd be able to feel them trembling.

“Will this be enough?” he asked, quietly.

“No, not for long,” she murmured, forcing herself to look directly into his sunglasses. “You need to come on me.”

Dean had the audacity to start to chuckle, which obviously drew the attention of a few of the closer ferals. Six bit back a whimper, not wanting to alert the horrors to her presence, or Dean to the fact that she was genuinely terrified of the creatures; everyone had their limits, hers just happened to be a horde of ferals, and had been ever since going with Boone to clear out the REPCONN test site near Novac. So she screwed her eyes shut, frantically praying to the god Joshua had told her about, hoping that the creatures would lose interest and shuffle away again. Dean must have sensed her fear... or perhaps her tightly closed eyes gave it away... because he went from hovering over her on his hands and knees, to his weight pressing down on her torso and his long legs bracketing hers. Six buried her face in the crook of his neck, whilst her fingers started to ache from how tightly she was grabbing his jacket.

“You're serious, aren't you?” he whispered into her ear.

“Unless you'd prefer to open a vein and bleed on me?” Six snapped, her voice muffled by his twisted skin.

“I may be a man of many vices, but that's certainly not one of my kinks,” Dean quipped, his voice low and steady.

“I'll remember that if I get the chance to seduce you properly,” she retorted, shakily.

“I may be a cad, my dear, but I do have some standards... it will be I seducing you, after I've taken you to dinner of course. I trust you'll be wearing that little black number you liberated from the Sierra Madre?”

Unwittingly, Six felt her lips curl into a small smile. “For you... naturally, and if you play your cards right, with nothing underneath.”

“I knew you were a minx,” he drawled, barely above a whisper. “So how do you want to do this, partner?”

Without thinking, she tilted her head just enough to press her lips to his withered cheek. “Thank you, Dean. Seriously, thank you. I'll help if you want me to?”

“No man in their right mind would turn down an offer like that from such a beautiful woman,” he replied, his low voice taking on a husky tone. “And there's no need to thank me. It has been a rather dry spell for me, these last two hundred years.”

* * *

Dean felt her smile widen at his words, since her ridiculously plush lips were still pressed against his throat. It drew his own out in reply, though that quickly morphed into a smirk when he felt her finally release the death grip she had on his jacket, before her hands smoothed down his sides. He raised his hips as much as he dared, allowing her skilful hands to slip in between their bodies, so she could unfasten his slacks. Her fingers were warm as they dipped beneath his trousers, and Dean couldn't help wishing this was happening under better circumstances; after all, he wasn't use to performing in front of such murderous critics, and the experience had so far left him a little... under prepared. Not that he was having stage fright. Oh no, not when he had his beautiful ace in the hole as a captive audience. Besides, he was a seasoned performer, he knew how to put on a show; and hopefully his little minx had the desire to follow up on their flirting, because Dean really did intend to try and seduce her once they got to Vegas; he might even attempt to woo her as well, depending how their dinner date went. Though all thoughts of later fled from his mind, when her dexterous fingers began to stroke his lax length, coaxing it to full hardness. She wrapped both hands around him... which did wonders for his ego... her elegant fingers entwined, before she eased him into the rhythm of their strange tango.

He thought he was handling things rather well, considering there had been a two century lull in available, pretty young women to ease some tension with; because despite knowing there was an urgent need for this to happen, Dean still had a healthy dose of masculine pride left, and didn't want to completely embarrass himself with how quickly he found completion... he _did_ want to leave her with the impression that going to dinner with him would be more than worth any effort on her part, after all. But when she started to roll her hips, effectively rocking his length between her clever hands and the divinely soft skin of her toned abdomen, that had been bared to him thanks to her t-shirt riding up. Dean was forced to muffle a groan against her throat, and was stunned when she arched up into him ever so slightly in reply. It gave him an idea, so as she continued to push him closer and closer to release, he began to place butterfly light kisses up and down the column of her throat, whilst his hands moved to gently cradle the back of her head to protect it from the concrete below them, as he started to rock his hips in time to her rhythm. She huffed a small moan against what remained of his ear, and Dean couldn't help smirking as he realised he must be rubbing against her most sensitive bundle of nerves, even through the thin denim she wore. So he readjusted his position, losing the delicious feeling of her skin against him, though decided it was worth it if he managed to make her climax as well. Her hands still remained trapped between their bodies, but his movement made it so she was practically pressing his length against her when she rolled her hips up to meet his.

The white hot feeling of his mounting orgasm hit Dean surprisingly quickly, spurred on by the fact that his pretty ball and chain was using his body to chase her own release. He'd always had a weak spot for a woman who knew what she wanted, and his partner was certainly no exception. So when she pulled him down hard so she could grind against him, it was curtains. Dean muffled his groan by burying his face in the crook of her neck, though kept just enough presence of mind to remember to brace himself a little above her, so his release coated her stomach. Though whilst he was still coming, she tugged him a higher, until he spent himself over her chest as well; and Dean knew he'd probably been starring a little slack jawed, as she released his softening length in order to spread his come up her neck as well. However, he managed to shake himself out of the daze, and settled his weight on to his knees and one forearm, whilst his free hand went to undo her belt and slip beneath her jeans. But she caught his wrist before he even made it to her buckle.

“We need to go,” she whispered, her gaze focused on the creatures surrounding them.

“What about...” Dean trailed off, though pointedly cupped the apex of her thighs over her clothing.

“There's a Followers outpost not too far from here, if we're diligent... and lucky... we should get there within the hour, maybe hour and a half tops,” she murmured, finally looking at him. “If we can find some privacy, I'd love for you to lend me a hand. But we need to get out of here, now.”

Knowing there was no point in arguing with her, Dean quickly fastened his slacks, before cautiously moving off his partner. Both waited a tense moment, but when none of the creatures made any move towards them, he watched her carefully retrieve their bags and pistols, before he slowly helped her into a crouch. Once again, they waited with bated breath to make sure they hadn't alerted any of them. But then without warning, she grabbed his hand and yanked him along as she started sprinting through the opening the constantly moving horde had suddenly created in it's ranks. A few of the creatures snarled at them as they raced passed, though shockingly none lashed out. However, even as their quick pace put real distance between them and the horde, Dean refused to count themselves as safe until the were at the outpost his partner had mentioned; where hopefully they'd manage to get some privacy, and he'd get the chance to make her gasp his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Courier is based on Lapita Nayungo (simply because I think she's ridiculously attractive).


	5. Gob/Wanderer

When he'd first seen the woman beside him timidly walk into Moriarty's bar, Gob didn't know what to think. At first he'd wondered if his eyes were finally giving up on him, since the most notable thing about her was the fact she looked so out of place. Though the bright blue of her vault suit wasn't what gave her away as being Fresh Out of the Vault, it was the fact her outfit was barely flecked with dust. Really, everything about her was just too clean. Her perfectly pressed vault suit, her perfectly coiffed honey-blonde hair, her perfectly symmetrical heart-shaped face, her perfectly smooth milky white skin, her perfectly straight pearly white teeth, her perfectly plump rosy pink lips. Everything about her was far too perfect not to be FOV. But what really got Gob... before he'd been stunned almost speechless at the nervous but friendly smile she'd given him... was her eyes. Her big, beautiful doe eyes. But it wasn't just her wide-eyed innocent look that caught his attention, it was the fact that her eyes were such a dark shade of grey that they seemed almost black. And then despite obviously being nervous... which considering he must have been the first ghoul she'd ever since, wasn't exactly surprising... she had the guts to walk over and strike up a conversation. She was perfectly ladylike, her voice soft and unassuming, her questions were shockingly polite, and she did an admirable job at keeping eye contact with him. Though what really threw him for a loop, was the fact that she held her hand out to him once they'd finished speaking, obviously intending to shake his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Naturally, Gob gaped at her. Not just because the only form of human contact that he'd had in fifteen years was the violent kind, or the very rare occasion that he let Nova patch him up after Moriarty or Jericho got a little too enthusiastic with their beatings, but because no one wanted to touch a ghoul. Smoothskins like her _hated_ 'walking corpses' like him; it's why most of the DC ghouls lived in Underworld now, to avoid the prejudice. It was rare to find one who just tolerated his kind... regardless of the fact that ghouls were not like the shuffling ferals and were living, thinking, _feeling_ people too... let alone wanted to be friendly with one. And even those that were friendly to ghouls, like Nova, didn't want to touch one unless they had to. Now throw in the fact this smoothskin was completely FOV, and had already admitted that she'd never seen a ghoul before, it left Gob reeling. So it took him a moment to understand that her offer was genuine, that she really didn't intend to harm him, though by the time Gob realised he had a chance to experience non-violent touch for the first time in years, he'd already missed his opportunity. Because Moriarty was suddenly there, literally knocking him out of his way to greet the vault dweller, who suddenly became all fluttering lashes and coy little smiles. It was then that Gob realised that her naïve looks were deceiving, because despite appearing the very picture of innocence, he didn't doubt for one second that she knew _exactly_ what she was doing. And if his quiet observation hadn't tipped him off, the cheeky wink she gave him as she followed Moriarty into the back room would have. And for some reason, that gesture seemed almost intimate, like she was letting him in on a secret somehow. It felt precious. So Gob tucked it away in his heart, to live alongside the memories of the other rare, friendly gestures that were occasionally directed his way.

After that, the smoothskin became a surprisingly regular feature in his life. She'd stop by the saloon whenever she was in Megaton and timed her visits perfectly to avoid Moriarty, though it took Gob three weeks to finally agree with Nova that she did it just to talk to _him_ ; after all, she regularly paid the whore for her time, but he had it on good authority that all they did was chat and eat junk food together. During those three weeks, Gob noticed how her milky white skin had darkened to a warm tan, and how her honey-blonde hair was now streaked with almost platinum highlights. But her eyes remained that same mysterious dark grey, that Gob secretly really liked. He found himself staring into them far too often, as she perched on her regular barstool, regaling the rapt bar about her adventures. But then a full month went by without even a passing glimpse of the vaultie, with only the updates the GNR gave about her exploits to confirm she wasn't dead. Everyone in the place seemed to hang on to every word that was said, and even Moriarty cracked a smile the day Three-dog stopped calling her the Lone Wanderer of Vault 101, and referred to her as the Lone Wanderer from Megaton. However, the bastard used it as an excuse to get drunk... not that he'd ever needed an excuse before... and a drunk Moriarty was a dangerous and unpredictable thing. So Gob hadn't a clue what he'd done to incur the man's wrath that evening, but soon found himself curled on the grubby floor of the deserted saloon, in a pool of his own blood, whilst the bastard continued to hit him with a broken stool leg. But as suddenly as the beating started, it stopped. There was a loud thump that forced Gob's tightly closed eyes to open, only to find himself face to face with a very dead Moriarty, who had a single bullet hole right between his eyes.

Gob had cautiously titled his head to try look as his savour, and a giddy laugh tried to bubble up in his abused chest, when he saw the platinum haired angel slowly lowering a silenced pistol, whilst a terrified looking Nova practically clung to the door frame. Neither woman said a word as they came over to him, and he'd have been ashamed that he needed both their help just to be able to stand, but since the golden goddess helped him painfully limp down the ramps towards the deactivated bomb, Gob decided he couldn't complain too much. She eased him down into the irradiated water that surrounded the nuke, and stayed long enough to make sure he was comfortable, before she ran back to the saloon. Later, Gob discovered she'd hacked Moriarty's terminal and cracked his safe, before handing over the deeds of the place to Nova, who in turn gave it to him; with the understanding that the bar was his, but the hotel side of the business was hers. How their saviour got things squared away with Simms, Gob didn't know, though he vaguely understood that Jericho had backed up her story of a drunken Moriarty pulling a gun on her. The whole town seemed to close ranks then, and even if the sheriff had wanted to run her out of town... which seemed unlikely considering the pair were well known friends... he wouldn't have been able to. And with the drunken bastard gone, the whole of Megaton seemed to breath a collective sigh of relief. It only took a few days for the town to settle into the new status quo, and they were surprisingly accepting of a ghoul running their bar. Simms even started directing caravans and travellers towards 'Nova's Hideaway' instead of the bunkhouse, so business quickly started to boom.

They were doing so well for themselves, that when his guardian angel came by one evening and casually stated she was heading _back_ to Underworld... with the clear hint that he was welcome to come with her... Gob only wasted a few minutes checking that Nova didn't mind, before he'd gathered up supplies along with the pistol that had once been Moriarty's, and met the smoothskin at her house. They set off the next morning, having spent the night studying the maps of the underground they needed to traverse, and her dog trotted happily along side them. Their journey was surprisingly mundane; few things crossed their path, and what did was usually dealt with by a few well placed shots from her hunting rifle. Really, Gob was in awe. Humbled at just travelling alongside the Lone Wanderer, but also because the smoothskin admitted she was heading back to Underworld in order to rescue another slave. She was amazing, and it made him feel even luckier to know her. Knowing that there was at least one person out in the Wastelands that cared about people like him, put a smile on his face. So between that revelation, their clear path and pleasant conversation, Gob thought their journey was going rather well, but he should have known it couldn't last. Because one minute they were walking through one the abandoned tunnels with no problem, the next her dog gave a menacing growl and before Gob knew it, she'd fired off six shots before grabbing his hand and dragging him back the way they'd come. He stumbled as she practically tossed him into a small room, her dog following right behind him. The smoothskin was the last through the door, and twisted the handle to lock it tightly. Gob was reeling from the abrupt change, so watched a little dazed as she upended a table in front of it, then attempted to drag a threadbare sofa in front of that. But his wits thankfully caught up with him in time to actually help her carry it over, and once content that the door was barred as securely as they could make it, they flopped down on the dusty couch in perfect unison. Gob might have chuckled at that, if he hadn't noticed how worried the smoothskin looked, thanks to the eerie green light her Pipboy cast. He was just about to ask what they were up against, before she beat him to it by angrily muttering: “Fucking ferals!”

* * *

The moment the word left her lips, Cathy slouched forward and hung her head. She normally made a rule of avoiding groups of ferals as much as she could; they really freaked her out, mostly because of their abnormally fast gait and single-mindedness. She hated them so much, that she'd made a point of visiting Doc Barrows in Underworld, after noticing the roaming ferals left Willow alone to her patrols. Unfortunately, stealth or masking her scent were the only methods to avoid confrontation, but with Gob with her, a stealthy approach was completely out of the question. Not that the ghoul was a particularly noisy person, if anything, he made a habit of trying to be as inconspicuous as possible; probably as a defence mechanism after dealing with Moriarty for fifteen years. But trying not to draw attention to himself, wasn't the same as sneaking past a pack of ferals. Which only left them with the option of masking her scent... if they were still going to try making it to Underworld, since abandoning their journey _was_ realistically an option too... but the notion left Cathy feeling uncomfortable. Not because of what needed to be done, but because she didn't have a clue how to bring up what needed to be said with Gob. Of course he was her friend, a surprisingly good friend; not because he was a ghoul, but because she'd have assumed dealing with Moriarty for fifteen years would have beat the kindness out of anyone. But still, he wasn't exactly like other guys Cathy had been friends with before. He wasn't scientifically inclined like Jonas, cocksure like Butch, or pragmatic like Harkness. Gob was such a sweetheart and arguably still a little wholesome, as unbelievable as that may be considering his looks, that Cathy genuinely felt guilty about what she was about to say.

“Gob... we're friends, right?” she asked, glancing at him.

“Sure, smoothskin. At least... I thought so,” he replied, cautiously.

“Me too,” she assured.

Without thinking, Cathy reached out to pat his knee; completely unprepared for the way he flinched and muttered a hurried: “Don't hit me”. Her heart broke at his automatic reaction, because she sure as hell knew it was nothing personal, since she'd done everything she could to make Gob realise she wasn't a threat to him. She'd never ridicule him, and certainly hadn't hit him. He was just so used to humans causing him harm, that whenever someone showed him common decency... let alone kindness and friendship... he seemed like he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not that Cathy could blame him, even though it stung whenever he flinched away from her. Of course, it made what she was about to say a hundred times harder than it really needed to be. But she had to at least let Gob know it was an option, before she suggested retracing their steps and trying to make the journey another time; because even though Cathy felt like _she_ had a deadline, what with intending to free poor Charon from that bastard as soon as possible, she didn't want to pressure Gob into anything he wasn't comfortable with.

“Gob. We're friends and I care about you, so please know I'm not trying to be a dick here, okay?” Cathy said, moving until she was facing him. “With the amount of ferals out there, we'll get swarmed. They'll ignore you, but me and Dog are going to be torn to shreds. So we've got two options. We can go back to Megaton and try again another time, maybe see if we can find a caravan heading to Underworld that we can tag along with, or...”

“Or?” Gob prompted, when she'd been silent a beat too long.

“I need to smell like you,” Cathy blurted out. “Dog should be fine if you don't mind carrying him. The ferals will probably still pick up his scent faintly, but it shouldn't do much more than confuse them if we move through them quick enough. Especially if I smell like you as well.”

“And how are we going to do that?” he asked, warily. “If you need me to... bleed, you're... you're going to have to be the one to cut me. I... I don't think I'm brave enough to do it myself.”

For a split second, she stared at him in horror. The fact that he'd so willingly let her cut him up was... disturbing? Touching? Cathy wasn't sure how to describe it, but she did know one thing for sure, she _hated_ the self-depreciating tone that had entered his voice. Like not wanting to cut himself was a bad thing. She shook her head, and very slowly reached out for Gob's hands and when he didn't pull away like she'd honestly expected him to, she carefully laced her fingers with him. Despite having touched a few ghouls since meeting him, Cathy was still fascinated by the texture of Gob's withered and rad-burnt skin. And although it obviously looked and felt nothing like her own, she couldn't understand why people thought ghouls looked like zombies. Sure, they were different looking. But they looked more like the chemical burn victims she'd seen in her Dad's medical journals, than corpses.

“Even without the risks of things like hepatitis and other blood related infections, there's no way I'd do that to you, Gob. You're my friend, and I'd be a pretty lousy one if I did anything to hurt you,” she told him, earnestly.

“Then what you thinking, Smoothskin?” he asked, cautiously.

“This... isn't going to sound much better,” Cathy admitted, giving him a strained smile. “In theory your semen should contain enough amines to make me smell like you, and the consistency would mean it lasted longer than saliva.”

Gob stared at her like she'd grown a second head, as he quickly pulled his hands away. “You... want to have sex... with me?”

“Only if you wanted to,” she reassured, quickly. “Or if you didn't, but still wanted to go ahead with the plan, I could literally give you a hand... or just move to the other side of the room to give you some sort privacy.”

“If... _I_ want to? Smoothskin, just how crazy are you? You don't need to pretend _you_ want to have sex with a walking corpse?” he laughed, bitterly.

“You're _not_ a walking corpse,” Cathy snapped, glaring at him. “And I'd gladly put a bullet in the brain of everyone who's ever said that to you.”

“You already took care of the main one,” Gob muttered, no longer looking at her. “But I know what I look like, Smoothskin. There's no way you want to have sex with me, even for this. I couldn't even pay Nova to have sex with me, and Moriarty pimped her out to any man who had the caps.”

Carefully, she reached for his hands again, whilst ducking her head to catch his milky eyes. “I admit I hadn't thought about you in that way before, but then again, I haven't thought about anyone like that since I left the vault. I was too busy looking for my Dad, then too busy grieving over him. But you're my friend, Gob. I trust you, which to me is far more important than some physical attraction. I've always preferred having sex with friends than someone I took a passing fancy to.”

“You had many friends with benefits?” he asked, but not unkindly.

Cathy shrugged. “I lost my virginity to my friend Jonas. He was ten years older than me _and_ my Dad's assistant. But I wanted my first time to be with someone I trusted, and someone who had enough experience to know how to take care of me. Some of the other girls my age had already had sex with their boyfriends, and complained it was uncomfortable or even hurt. I knew it shouldn't be like that, so I went to Jonas. He was hesitant at first, but after we talked it over for a few weeks, he agreed and we managed to have sex whilst my dad was in an important meeting with the Overseer. It was actually really nice, and a memory I'll always treasure, but he was too worried about my Dad finding out for it to happen again. Other than that, there was Butch. We fought like cat and dog when we were kids, and he was a bit of a prick when we were teens. But I was somehow always the one to find him if he'd had a fight with one of his gang, or his Mom had gotten drunk and beat him. We sort of bonded as I patched him up, and he started coming over whenever shit got bad at home. We... kinda happened in a similar way to me and Jonas. He wanted someone he trusted to be his first, and after that, we helped each other out whenever one of us needed some stress relief.”

“So... no one out here?” Gob asked, hesitantly.

She shook her head. “The only real friends I could say I've made out here are you, Nova, a guy name Harkness in Rivet City, and Tulip from Underworld. And since I'm strictly into guys, it leaves you and Hark... and as much as I adore that hard-nose, you're much more my type.”

* * *

Gob didn't mean the bark of laughter to escape his ruined lips, but he just couldn't help it. He was no-one's type, never really had been. Sure, he'd been relatively attractive before his ghoulification, in a bookish type of way. And although he'd had a few steady girlfriends, he'd never been a ladies man. But things had ground to a halt since he became a ghoul, because no-one wanted to get up close and personal with someone who looked like him; even he didn't want to look at his face in the mirror every morning. So Gob couldn't even begin to wrap his head around the fact that the utterly stunning woman beside him would be willing to touch him, and not just touch him, because if he was brave enough to let go of his insecurities and self-doubt, she'd actually have sex with him. And of course he realised it was because she needed his come to smell like ghoul... which was almost laughter inducing all on it's own... but like she'd already said, he could just take care of that himself for the plan to go ahead. She didn't need to participate, but had still shockingly offered.

“You're crazy, Smoothskin,” he stated, fondly.

“You see, you make that sound like a compliment,” she chuckled. “But I meant what I said. I _like_ that you're so sweet and mild mannered. I like that you're not cocksure or a fighter. I like that you're _nice_. Even back in the vault, hardly anyone was genuinely nice, and out here it's practically unheard of. And I trust you. You were the first friend I made out here. So yes, you're completely the type of guy I'd have sex with.”

He shook his head in disbelief, but a tiny smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You're something else, you know that?”

“So I've been told,” she replied, wryly. “No one ever made it sound like a good thing before though.”

“It is,” Gob assured, with conviction. “You're amazing, and wonderful, and brilliant. And I'm not just saying that because... well... you know...”

“Gob... hush up,” she smiled.

As she spoke, the smoothskin unbuckled her armour pieces, then shuffled until she was curled up into his side. After an internal debate, Gob carefully settled his arm around her shoulders; and he was so utterly relieved he'd thought to change into a fresh... albeit still ratty... t-shirt before they'd set off, since she rested her head on his shoulder. Her platinum hair was utterly dazzling up close, ridiculously soft as it brushed against his jaw, and still had a faint hint of soap clinging to it. Feeling a little daring, Gob nuzzled the top of her head and pressed his ruined lips to her soft locks, although he'd never dare kiss her anywhere else, since he couldn't imagine it would feel very nice for her. However, he did cautiously start drawing indistinct patterns on her still clothed arm. Though his timid caresses only lasted as long as it took her small hand to slowly make it's way up his thigh, gently squeezing his trembling leg through his old jeans, before one of her blunt fingernails lightly tapped his belt buckle.

“Can I?” she asked, quietly.

“I... I don't want to get undressed,” he admitted, hating how his voice cracked on the last word. “I don't... I don't like how I look and...”

“You're not comfortable having a lot of skin on show?” she guessed, giving his thigh a comforting squeeze. “That's okay, hunny. We'll only do as much or as little as you're comfortable with. You've just got to tell me if we're going too fast. We're safe in this room, so we don't have to rush. Okay?”

Gob nodded, not quite trusting his voice.

“Is there anything that's a no go right off the bat? Like touching under your shirt, oral, general kissing, touching your hair?”

“What hair?” he chuckled, despite himself.

She shrugged, smiling slightly. “Butch hated if I touched his hair, and my friend Amata dated a girl who hated kissing. Since this situation is already weird enough, thought it best to ask ahead of time.”

“I'm not sure I'm comfortable with any of that,” he admitted, ashamedly.

“Okay, so just the bare minimum of contact, that's cool,” she replied, not missing a beat. “Do you want sex, or for me to just give you a hand? Or I could just cuddle up with you, whilst you take care of it.”

“I'd be crazy not to want sex with you,” Gob stated, daring himself to meet her gaze. “It's just been a long time and I'm not exactly comfortable with...”

* * *

Once again, Cathy's heart broke a little as she watched her friend make a sweeping gesture that encompassed his whole being, though she could do little more than offer a sympathetic smile. It wasn't like she could really appreciate what he felt, since the worst she'd ever had to deal with was the stretch marks she'd gotten after a growth spurt when she turned thirteen; of course her body was now littered with scars thanks to roaming the Wastelands, but they were badges of honour for situations that she'd managed to survive. However, Gob's abysmal self-image was years... if not decades... in the making, and Cathy got the sense it probably stemmed back to a time before Moriarty. She hoped one day he'd feel comfortable enough to open up and talk to her about it, but for now, she decided to content herself with at least being able to make him feel good. She didn't dare tell Gob that she thought he was actually very brave, since she imagined he'd take it the wrong way or think she was taking the piss. But to Cathy, he was brave since he was still willing to give this a try despite his obviously crippling low self-esteem.

“If all you're comfortable with is for your trousers to be unzipped, then that's totally fine, hun,” she assured, before taking hold of her own zipper. “Do you want me to go first?”

Gob audibly swallowed before nodding, and despite not being physically attracted to her friend, a wave of arousal washed over her as she saw how intensely his gaze followed the zipper's downward journey. Cathy was almost tempted to make a show of stripping out of the skin tight material, but Gob's milky eyes were so unguarded when he glanced up to meet her gaze... showing every last bit of his vulnerability... that she didn't want to tease him. So she just toed off her combat boots and shrugged off her suit without fanfare, leaving herself in just the dark grey tank top and matching knickers she'd always worn. She stood there unabashed, trying not to smirk at the obvious awe Gob was regarding her with, regardless of the fact her undergarments were hardly sexy. She watched as his hands rose and fell in aborted attempts to reach for her. To touch her. But it wasn't until the third time he went to lower his hands, that Cathy gently caught them in her own. She squeezed his fingers lightly, before using his hands to keep her balance as she moved to straddle his thighs. Once she was seated relatively comfortably... given the fact she'd shuffled back enough that she'd be able to open his jeans... Cathy set Gob's hands down on her own thighs. He sucked in a surprised breath, his whole body freezing for a moment, until she guided him how to squeeze her thighs the way she liked to be touched. It took a few minutes for his posture to finally relax, somewhat at least, and Cathy let herself simply enjoy the light squeezes that he sometime interspersed with almost teasing caresses, as his gnarled fingertips wandered up the inside of her legs. Though once he seemed more at ease, obviously feeling more confident that she wasn't about to suddenly change her mind, she reached for his belt again.

“Can I?” she asked, quietly.

When Gob nodded, Cathy smiled at him sweetly, wishing she could lean forward and kiss him like she would have anyone else, but she respected his boundaries. And although she was more than a little tempted to look, she made sure to keep eye contact with him when she wrapped her hand around his half hard length. Even when his eyes slipped shut at the feeling, Cathy reigned in her impulse; she wanted her friend to feel a hundred percent comfortable with her, so she wasn't about to blow it simply to sate her curiosity. Besides, she could feel the texture of his length as he slowly grew hard in her hand, coaxed along by the gentle rhythm of her languid strokes. Though Cathy was pleasantly surprised that Gob wasn't a lax partner, because whilst she prepared him, his fingers had drawn closer and closer to the apex of her thighs. He traced feather light patterns on the sensitive skin on the inside of her toned legs, until he slowly dragged a knuckle along her cotton covered heat. She sighed sweetly at the feeling, before moaning softly when Gob turned his hand to rub her through her knickers, and when he repeated the motion, Cathy rocked her hips forward. The heel of his hand slipped from her pubic bone to cover her most sensitive bundle of nerves, and she couldn't have stopped the needy whine that escaped her, even if she tried. Without really thinking, Cathy clamped one hand on his shoulder, to help brace herself as she rose to her knees on trembling legs, whilst the other grabbed his wrist to keep it in place as she ground against his hand. She only realised what she'd done when she heard Gob groan, and eyes that she hadn't realised that she'd closed snapped opened. Cathy let go of him immediately, an apology at the tip of her tongue, so she wasn't expecting Gob to suddenly curl his free hand around the back of her neck; warm and grounding. She didn't expect him to slowly pull her forward until their foreheads were touching. She didn't expect him to capture the hand that was now limply hanging by her side, before moving their joined hands back to the apex of her thighs. And she certainly didn't expect his gravelly voice to sound so raw when he stated:

“Show me what you like.”

There was an intensity to Gob's gaze Cathy had never seen before, and that alone would have made her moan, even without his request. It was a passion that she hadn't expected, that somehow made their situation slip from friends with benefits, to something that was a little bit _more_. So she bit her lip to stop herself from leaning forward to kiss him, whilst guiding his fingers to push aside her knickers. Gob caressed her almost tentatively... gasping when he discovered the physical evidence that she really was interested in having sex with him... until Cathy guided his fingers up to her most sensitive bundle of nerves. She hummed in approval as he followed her silent instruction of the pressure and motion she preferred, but whilst she was half tempted to just have him remain there, she eventually guided him to slip two fingers easily inside her. The ridges of Gob's skin felt better than she could have imagined, and considering the length of him felt the same in the palm of her hand, Cathy expected she'd have no problem reaching her climax. And she was just about to say as much, when Gob took the initiative, and began circling her bundle of nerves with his thumb whilst somehow finding the exact spot inside that made her toes curl, without her even having to ask. Without thinking, Cathy wrapped her arms around his neck to brace herself as he continued his ministrations, and she moaned her encouragement against what was left of his ear. It seemed to spur Gob on, because his tempo increased, which left her whimpering in pleasure as a familiar feeling began to build.

“You. Inside. Now,” Cathy managed to gasp.

She knew she was close and Gob thankfully didn't fumble when he withdrew his hands, and lined himself up so she could sink down onto him. He felt ridiculously good, and the sensation was the _exact_ thing that pushed her over the edge; though she wasn't sure who moaned loudest, her or Gob, as her walls tightened around him. Still, the moment she'd come down from her high Cathy smiled at him; touched that he'd patiently remained mostly still, almost as if he was waiting for her, before she rolled her hips. He pressed his thin lips together, obviously stifling a groan, which only made Cathy more determined. So she braced her hands against his shoulders for leverage, before raising herself almost off his length before quickly dropping back down. Gob's head fell back against the couch, as he gripped her thighs just slightly harder than he had before... as if he was afraid he'd hurt her if he was any rougher... whilst a drawn out groan escaped him. Unable to help it, Cathy grinned and repeated the action several times more in quick succession, until Gob shook his head and gently squeezed her thighs. She understood the silent message and let him slide out of her, before she sat back on his lap and wasn't surprised that it only took him a final stroke before he found his release; though for some reason, Cathy hadn't expected him to climax completely silently, though considering how he'd lived for fifteen years, perhaps she should have. A moment later, Gob opened his milky eyes and gave her a genuinely apologetic look, which confused her for a moment, until he hesitantly raised his cupped hands. Once again, Cathy understood immediately and gave him a reassuring smile, before she shuffled forward for him to spread his come across her chest and arms. However, despite her best efforts, she couldn't help wrinkling her nose at the sensation; which obviously wasn't the most pleasant. But at least Gob chuckled at her reaction, and was then sweet enough to crouch down to help her with her boots, once she'd shimmied into the lower half of her vault suit and tied the sleeves around her waist, since she didn't want to mask the scent... or get the insides covered in come. Dog trotted back over then and Cathy ruffled his ears, whilst promising to get him a juicy Brahmin steak for staying out of their way.

“Are you... okay?” Gob asked, almost shyly.

“Of course. You doing alright, hun?”

“Yeah. Just... um, thank you. I know that can't have been pleasant for you,” he replied, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Are you kidding? You were great,” she smiled, resting her hand lightly on his bicep. “No complaints here.”

“Really?”

Cathy nodded. “Definitely.”

“Would you... would you want to do it again?” he asked, clearly embarrassed.

“Depends,” she smirked. “Think you can treat me to a night without the threat of ferals?”

Finally, Gob returned her smile, and actually rested his hand on her waist. “For you, Smoothskin. I'm sure I can try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Lady_Trevelyan84  
> Lone's appearance is inspired by the Funky Pop collectable (yes, really!) & named after her mother.


	6. Edward/Sole

Edward had thought there was something otherwordly about the woman the moment he'd set eyes on her, but it wasn't until Jack suddenly laughed and pulled the new girl into an unexpected hug, that he understood what it was. It made sense all of a sudden, why she'd stood out from the crowd, why she'd carried herself with a grace that reminded him of the old days, why he couldn't tear his bloodshot eyes from her whenever they were in the same room. She was miraculously old world, and not just from a time before the bombs, but from old money too. She was the type of woman a servant like him would have tipped his hat to in the street, or put his coat down on a puddle for her to walk over, but never the type of woman that would have given him a second look; even when he'd had intact skin and a full head of hair. Nora was the type of woman that had always been unattainable for Edward, or at least he originally assumed she was. It was Jack's comment about her causing a scandal when she ran off and married a soldier... a regular infantryman too, not even an officer... that made him realise he might have been somewhat wrong about the type of woman she was. There was a haunted look in her chestnut eyes at the mention of her husband, that told Edward she'd lived through hell, even though she'd gotten to the future as picture perfect as she must have been the day the bombs fell. So he took the chance to steer the conversation in a safer direction, which was laughable considering the type of job he had in mind for her, but the grateful way she'd squeezed his hand when he'd shown her out, let Edward know Nora appreciated his rusty gesture all the same.

That night he'd gone to bed and thought about how she'd looked when he'd tracked her down in Goodneighbour. All killer curves and flirty smiles, as she swayed with Mayor Hancock in the Third Rail whilst Magnolia crooned. He'd immediately felt a stab of jealousy towards his fellow ghoul, even if it was well known that Hancock and Magnolia were the worst kept secret in town. Though it was still obvious the pair were close regardless, and Hancock was particularly protective of Nora, considering the feral grin that was directed his way when he'd finally approached her at the bar. But her reputation had caught his attention months ago, and when rumours began to circulate that she was running with Mayor Hancock, Edward had known it would be worth the risk to seek out her help. The fact she returned to Cabot House only two days after she'd accepted the job, a little more battered than before though still in one piece, and with the serum intact, proved that his faith hadn't been misplaced. She didn't even ask what it was, but then again, Edward supposed she didn't have to. Jack had already stated the Cabots hadn't survived the bombs through cryogenics like she had, and Nora wasn't a stupid woman. Edward had no doubt that she knew exactly what she was handing over, but didn't try to keep a single vial for herself; which only raised Edward's esteem of her. He gave her another job immediately, or more precisely, Wilhelmina did. Mrs Cabot was more standoffish than Jack had been, and he couldn't believe how graciously Nora handled the old woman's barbs about her 'breaking her mother's heart when she ran off with that pauper'. In fact, he'd offered her an apology as he led her back to the front door, but she'd merely given him a half smile whilst tucking her chocolate coloured hair behind an ear, and told him not to worry about it.

In all honesty, Edward hadn't really expected Nora to come back after that; with how Wilhelmina had treated her, he wouldn't have begrudged her decision. But she'd surprised him by returning just a few days later with a giggling Emogene, who seemed surprisingly happy to be coming home arm-in-arm with Nora. Though that evening Edward was reminded that she really was that unattainable woman he'd first imagined her to be, whilst he endured four full hours of waiting on her and the Cabots, since Wilhelmina had insisted Nora stay for dinner that evening. However, seeing her in the dress she'd borrowed from Emogene nearly made it worth it. She had legs for days, and it was almost a shame when she emerged after dinner dressed in her road leathers again. But in a way it signalled that she'd left the Cabot's world and re-entered his, so Edward couldn't help the warm smile he'd given Nora, when she'd sought him out before leaving, just to apologise that he'd had to wait on her. And if his heart had raced just a little, when she'd pushed up on her toes to kiss his cheek goodbye when she and her hound had headed out, that was for him alone to know.

He hadn't seen Nora again before the madness that was the attack on Parsons Asylum... and yes, he could appreciate the irony of that... but he'd heard her voice over the radio, when she promised that she'd be there shortly with Jack. He'd felt a little surge of relief at the thought of Nora joining the fight, because if anyone could help, Edward was sure it was her. But the feeling was short lived, shot dead when a lucky bullet ripped through his gut. The pain was excruciating, and he'd honestly thought it was delirium brought on from blood loss, when Jack had swum into his hazy vision. He wasn't exactly surprised that his boss was a bit of an ass; Jack was a nice enough guy, but he'd always put the concerns of his family before anything else. However, Nora's worried face was a welcome sight, even if Edward felt guilty when he realised that he was the cause of her concern. He didn't comment about how her hands shook when she checked his wound, but he'd indulgently held her soft hand to his face when she'd cupped his cheek, before administering a stimpack to his stomach. He tried to protest when Nora ordered her Alsatian to stay and guard him, but even Jack's protests couldn't sway her. If anything, it probably only served to make her mad, which might have been amusing if it hadn't been so endearing to him. The dog was surprisingly attentive company whilst he waited for them to return, and if his skin wasn't so twisted and burnt from the radiation, Edward was fairly sure he'd have blushed when Nora insisted on draping his arm over her shoulders, whilst she helped him stagger back to Cabot house.

* * *

When Nora had first caught wind of the so-called Treasure of Jamaica Plains, she really hadn't paid it much thought, but when Preston had asked her to look into clearing out the place for a settlement, she figured it might be a laugh to try seek it out. She also had the ideal companion in mind, even if she hadn't seen Deegan since she'd left Codsworth with him; she'd hated the idea of him rattling around that old house alone, now that the Cabots were gone. So she'd made the detour, and grinned when he'd practically rushed to get ready. They were back out the door in less than half a hour, with Nora assuring Codsworth that they'd be back in a few days, and telling her faithful dog to stay and guard the house. The journey to Jamaica Plains was fairly uneventful, however things certainly didn't stay that way. Sure, Preston's report had said there was a feral problem, but nothing had hinted that it was a veritable infestation. It had taken them the better part of a day just to make it to a mostly intact house, that actually had a door that still shut and boarded up windows. Deegan insisted they made camp for at least a few hours, and since she was bleeding heavily from a nasty gash on her right thigh, Nora supposed she wasn't in a place to argue with him. She smiled at his obvious bashfulness when he helped her wriggle out of her blood-soaked jeans, not at all surprised that he was a model gentleman whilst he cleaned and bandaged her wound, and had even gone so far as to lay out their sleeping bags on top of each other, just so she had a softer place to sit. But she felt a little silly sitting there still wearing her leather jacket whilst being pant-less, so she shrugged out of it, leaving her in a faded plaid shirt and her shorts. It didn't take long to coax Deegan to at least shed his combat armour, but it had taken Nora to admit she was cold, before he finally sat next to her.

“Something's on your mind,” she stated, offering a small smile.

“How's your leg?” he replied, carefully wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“The stimpack is working wonders, thank you. But that's not what's bothering you.”

Deegan sighed. “Guess there's no point lying. I don't like the thought of you going back out there.”

“Guess I am a bit of a magnet for them,” Nora chuckled. “But they practically ignore you. Got any tips?”

Nora didn't think she knew Deegan well enough to be able to read his facial expressions, but she had the distinct impression that he was uncomfortable with her question, which piqued her interest. So she carefully moved so she was facing him, her bare leg pressing against his demin clad thigh. Without really thinking, she lay her hand on his forearm when he glanced away from her, and gave a gentle squeeze.

“Deegan?”

“It's the pheromones,” he stated, stiltedly. “They think we're alike because of it. Or at least, that's the theory Jack worked off.”

“I'm sorry,” she replied, quietly.

“It's alright.”

She hadn't expected him to lay his large hand over hers, where it still rested on his forearm, but she smiled up at him all the same. There was a familiar sadness in his pale blue eyes that Nora understood all too well, that made her want to hug him, but there was also a wariness there that gave her pause.

“There's more to it, isn't there?” she asked.

Deegan shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Jack had made a spray that worked to mask a human's scent so ferals mistook them for ghouls. He never told Emogene or Wilhelmina what it was made from but it... ah...”

“You're going to say your blood or semen aren't you,” Nora interrupted, forcing herself to maintain eye contact.

“The... um... latter,” he mumbled.

“Of course it was,” she said, trying not to giggle. “Of course it was. So... I need to smell like you to avoid being attacked, and the only way is for us to get up close and personal?”

“Something like that,” Deegan replied, pointedly avoiding her gaze. “I understand if you'd rather find another way, but it's the only one I know of.”

* * *

Edward was practically squirming as Nora eyed him, barely resisting the urge to wring his hands as a slightly uncomfortable silence settled around them; or uncomfortable for him, at any rate. He hadn't expected her to slowly shift to her knees, and his arm shot out to wrap around her slender waist, the moment she wobbled when she put weight on her injured leg. But that shock was dwarfed by the fact that her dainty hand suddenly cupped his cheek, gently turning his face so he met her unwavering gaze once again. She was so close that he could have leant in and brushed her soft looking lips with his thin ones, but he wasn't the type of man who liked to make a lady uncomfortable, and there was no way a woman like Nora would ever contemplate kissing a ghoul like him. Or at least he'd thought so, until:

“You're a good man, Deegan. I like you, and more importantly, I trust you. If you say this is the only way you know, then I believe you. If you're willing, then I want to try, but I don't know how far you want this to go.”

“I'm more concerned with how you feel about this,” he said, quietly. “I don't want you to think that I'm saying any of it to coerce you.”

“Like I've already said, Deegan, I trust you.”

“Edward,” he corrected. “If we're contemplating this. Then please, it's Edward.”

“Edward...” Nora repeated, smiling softly.

Then to his utter amazement, she leant in and pressed her ridiculously plush lips to his. Without thinking, he cradled her face as he kissed her back, though sucked in a surprised breath when she slowly licked the seam of his lips.

“Is this okay?” she whispered against him.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice sounding gravelly even by his standards.

Nora chuckled lightly. “I already admitted I like you, Edward. Apart from being a nice guy, you're a very attractive man. And for the record, I'd be interested even without the threat of becoming feral chow.”

For a weighted moment, Edward simply studied her in the faint light cast by her Pipboy and the torch he'd brought, before experimentally running a hand slowly down her spine. She arched into his touch, her generous breasts straining against the thin material of her shirt, as she pushed herself closer to him. It was certainly a lot more favourable reaction than he'd ever expected, and it was that rather than her words, that made him wonder if his attraction wasn't as one-sided as he'd thought... after all, she could have just _liked_ him as a friend... so he took a steadying breath before admitting:

“I don't think I'd be able to handle just being friends, if we went further than we strictly need to.”

“And if I'm interested in being more than friends?” she asked, a feline smirk forming on her dusty pink lips.

“Are you sure you'd want to be saddled with an old ghoul like me?” he asked, seriously.

She swiped his flat cap off his bald head before dramatically gasping: “You're a ghoul! I had no idea!” Before she lightly smack him on the shoulder with his own hat. “I don't care that you're a ghoul you silly man. The Mayor of Goodneighbour is my best friend, which would be a pretty hard feat if I had an issue with ghouls... not to mention I've had a bit of a crush on a certain tall, road leather wearing ghoul I used to work for, for some time.”

“Is that so?” he replied, letting a smile slowly form.

“And for the record, I don't think 'ghoul' when I look at you. You really are a very attractive man, you know,” Nora stated, her thumb caressing his cheekbone.

“I'll defer to the lady's judgement.”

In all honesty, Edward hadn't given his changed looks much thought after the first decade. And for the first fifty years after the bombs fell, there'd just been too much work to do to even contemplate anything outside what needed to be done for their survival. Once Goodneighbour was established, he'd had the odd dalliance, though nothing that ever lasted more than a night; his work for the Cabot's had always come first, like it always had. But Nora was different, and not just because she was a pre-war lady. She was one knock-out damn and _anyone_ who caught her eye would have been lucky to have her, ghoul or human. So for the first time in centuries, Edward actually cared about how he looked, and that fact she found him attractive... ghoulification be damned... made him feel like one lucky son-of-a-gun.

“Well the lady also know what she wants,” she purred, her hands wandering down to his torso.  
  
“And that is...?”

“Didn't think you were the type to play coy,” she teased.

He traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “I'm not. But I'm also not the type to do anything without a lady's consent.”

“I want you,” Nora stated, confidently, as she rested her forehead against his. “I have for a while and not as a fling.”

“Good answer.”

Edward smiled as he spoke, whilst his hand slid to the back of her neck, so he could close the last few centimetres between them. It was him who sought to deepen their kiss, and Nora answered with fervour. Edward groaned when she began to unzip his jacket, and he tossed it aside, just as her small hands dipped beneath his once-white-tee. With the way she pushed up his top, her hands unashamedly exploring, it was obvious she really wasn't bothered by his ghoulification; if anything, she seemed eager to map out the twists and edges of his rad burnt skin. It felt so good, that he had to return the favour. So careful not to break the passionate dance of their tongues, Edward slowly unbuttoned her shirt, and gently pulled it from her body. His questing fingertips traced the underside of her bra, and he smiled against Nora's lips, when she reached behind herself to impatiently unclasp it. Both topless, Edward carefully manoeuvred until she was reclining back on their piled sleeping bags. Rationally, despite their joint confessions, he knew they were only there for survival... mostly... but that didn't stop him wanting Nora to enjoy herself. So he gently nudged her to lay back, before he began to slowly trail kisses down her perfect body.

* * *

Nora gasped and writhed as Edward traced unseen patterns across her body with his fingers, lips and tongue. She hummed her approval whilst he worshipped her breasts, giggled as he trailed down her ribs, shuddered when he lovingly kissed the stretch marks on her stomach... eternally thankful he didn't broach the subject with her, though certain it was a conversation for later... and moaned her consent when his fingertips stroked the edge of her underwear. She glanced down to find up looking up at her, and she nodded without even thinking. It seemed it was all the affirmation Edward needed, because she was soon completely bare. Though he didn't give her the chance to even consider it was her first time since Nate, before he ducked his head and slowly licked, until his lips closed around her most sensitive bundle of nerves. Nora's hands found her own hair as she let her legs fall wide, giving him better access, and another moan escaped her when Edward slowly slid one, then two fingers inside her. She'd never considered what the ridges of his skin would feel like against her, but they caused delicious friction, which combined with the way he artfully licked and sucked at her, had Nora hurtling towards release faster than she could process. One minute she was panting, telling him not to stop. The next her back was arching off the sleeping bags, as she chased his touch, practically demanding to be pushed over the edge. Edward didn't disappoint, and crooked his fingers in a way that had him hitting the perfect spot inside. She came back to herself to the sound of his warm chuckle, and sat up to smile at him, as he finally kicked off his own boots and jeans.

“You sure you want me like this, love?” he asked, as he braced himself above her.

“Definitely,” Nora assured, pulling him down close enough to kiss.

She could taste herself on his tongue, which was actually pretty hot, and she wound her arms tightly around Edward's neck as he slowly eased himself into her. If his fingers had been good, having him completely felt amazing. Nora didn't hesitated to wrap her legs around his waist, or squeeze her inner muscles around his length. The languid rhythm he'd started faltered when he unexpectedly fully hilted inside her, and both moaned their appreciation at the feeling.

“Please, love. I won't last long if you do that,” he murmured, sounding strained.

“I don't think we have the luxury of really lingering here,” she whispered back.

“Come back to Cabot House with me,” he panted, as he continued his slow thrusts.

“I presume you have a comfortable bed there?” Nora smirked, rolling her hips to meet him.

“And more...”

“Like?”

“A spacious shower, a soft couch, a sturdy table, counters at the perfect height...”

His words suddenly trailed off into a moan as he hunched over her, his face pressed into the crook of her neck as he quickly withdrew. Nora stroked Edward's back soothingly, as he cursed against her skin and spilt himself on her stomach. They panted together for several heartbeats, before he raised his head to look at her.

“Sorry, if I made you uncomfortable there, love.”

“You mean with your suggestions?” she grinned. “I loved everyone of them.”

“Is that so?” he mused, gently brushing some of her sweat soaked hair from her face.

“I just have to ask, is that a plan for a couple of days, or just one night?” she smirked.

Edward huffed a laugh, before leaning down to press his lips to her forehead. “Whatever my lady wants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nora's appearance is inspired by female Sole Survivor's default look in game. Thanks to Anon for suggesting Deegan, as well as AlexRuby.


	7. Charon/Courier

Charon couldn't quite clearly remember how he'd got there. The only thing that had stuck in his mind since Hope sacrificed herself, was the kiss she'd given him instead of saying goodbye. He didn't know who he'd given his contract to, but it certainly wasn't the bastard that currently owned him. He didn't even recall walking from the Capital Wastes to the Mojave, but he had. However, he clearly remembered how his current master had found a loophole in the contract's 'physical harm' clause. After all, he never instructed his gang to beat Charon, but he _had_ ordered Charon not to injure his crew whilst defending himself. Which was why he'd been laying on the dusty ground with two shattered wrists and a severely broken leg, when the gang was set upon. Of course he _tried_ to get up when his master had screamed at him to 'deal with that bitch', but there wasn't much Charon could do without being able to hold a weapon, nevermind actually stand. But he felt the moment his contract changed hands, and tried to push himself upright when he heard footsteps approach, though all he managed to do was roll himself onto his back. He looked up at a woman with a lithe body that was barely kept modest by the strappy harness she wore instead of armour. She had a shocking red mohawk, startling green eyes, and a surprisingly pretty face with a smattering of dark freckles across the bridge of her sunburnt nose. She wore one half of a set of goggles, who's strap partially covered what looked like a wicked scar on her forehead. There was a combat shotgun strapped to her back, a baseball bat clasped in one pale, blood stained hand. Whilst the other unmistakably held his contract.

“Forgive the state I am in, Mistress,” he said, his voice gruffer than usual from thirst.

“Mistress?”

“You hold my contract, I am bound to serve you until you die, or the contract changes hands,” he told her, dutifully.

* * *

“Oh! That's all kinds of messed up...”

Six glanced at Veronica, about to agree that whatever this 'contract' was, was pretty fucked up. However, she found her friend staring at the prone guy, which gave her pause. Because okay, it was fairly obvious he had a broken leg and at least one broken arm, but there were no open wounds, nothing about his grubby armour or ghoulified skin that made her think 'messed up'.

“Got any Stimpacks on you, Ronnie?” she asked.

“Who me? Nope. No. Nada.”

Six frowned at her friend's hurried replied. Granted, she herself only had one left, but she'd been sure Veronica had a few more. But perhaps Ronnie had used them without saying anything? It wouldn't be the first out of character thing she'd done lately. Okay, being part of that Brotherhood of Steel cult wasn't exactly normal, but neither was surviving being shot in the head twice, and buried in a shallow grave. So Six had mostly put Ronnie's weird behaviour down to feeling a little neglected. Veronica had been her first friend after waking up in Doc Mitchell's office, but Six had steadily gained a few more since. Though all had been well until she and Cass had returned after rescuing Raul. But Six supposed she had spent a little more time with her newest friend lately, but that was mostly because she knew a bit more about treating ghouls than Arcade did; since she'd once worked as a caravan guard with a few... not to mention Raul had some amazing stories, and she enjoyed their good-natured arguments about whether shotguns or pistols were superior. So after one too many snippy comments from Ronnie, Six had realised that she'd maybe been neglecting her first friend. They'd set out together not long after with no real destination in mind, and things had seemed almost back to normal. Until they'd run into this particular bunch of Fiends, and found this poor injured sod.

“Shit! I only have one,” Six muttered, before looking back down at the guy. “I know broken wrists suck, Babe. But gotta prioritise walking, right?”

“Whatever Mistress wants.”

She plastered on a smile to hide her discomfort. “It's Six. And we'll deal with this contract-thing later. Alright? Need to get you checked over first.”

As gently as she could, Six inserted the needle through the material of his combat trousers, and injected the Stimpack into his thigh, before sitting back on her haunches to check her Pipboy. It seemed that Goodsprings was a little closer than New Vegas, so it looked like a trip to Doc rather than Arcade was in order.

“Looks like we're heading to Goodsprings,” she said. “The Doc there literally brought me back from the dead, so I reckon a couple of broken bones won't be an issue for him.”

“I need to head back to the Bunker,” Veronica suddenly announced.

Six frowned. “You sure? We could probably use your help, Ronnie. It's obvious that... Shit! Sorry, hunny,” she said, looking back at the guy. “I didn't even ask your name.”

* * *

“Charon.”

He didn't say anything more than that, and even though his employer... Six... tried to get the other woman to accompany them to wherever they were going, she outright refused; even if she used some vague excuse about needing to be elsewhere. But Charon knew a bigot when he saw one. Hell. He wouldn't even be surprised if she was a member of the Brotherhood, despite the fact he hadn't heard mention of the group since he'd arrived in the desert. But his employer... Six... didn't seem to be anti-ghoul at all. In fact, it seemed like she hadn't even registered he was a ghoul, especially with how she easily gripped his bicep with her small hand, not even flinching at the withered and twisted skin under her slightly calloused palm. And no one other than Hope had...

His thought was cut off when his employer... Six... hauled him to his unsteady feet, before slipping under his arm so she could brace his weight without hesitation, like it didn't bother her to be so close to a ghoul. She waved her companion off, frowning slightly at the other woman's pinched look, but smiled up at him easily before they set off; after grabbing his own combat shotgun, when she asked if he had a preference from the weapons she'd scavenged. She was ridiculously chatty, though considering she stuck to topics like preferred guns and combat styles, she was either trying to find out how best she could use him, or trying to distract him from the pain. Charon wasn't sure how to feel if it was the latter, but it was working, even if it was the unlikely option. Because no one other than Hope had ever cared about his well-being before. But because she _had_ been a wonderful anomaly in his life, his wary brain couldn't completely rule out that his new employer might not be so awful either.

* * *

They were making decent enough time to Goodsprings, considering Charon was still limping heavily; although he'd seemingly accepted that she was going to be his crutch for the journey. They'd stopped part way so she could help him pull on a spare pair of goggles she kept in her pack... one with both eyepieces still in tact, thanks to Raul's insistence... when a sandstorm whipped up. But other than that, there was only an odd gecko to deal with, and they came upon a deserted shack shortly before nightfall. Six gave the inside a quick once over, confirming that nothing was lurking inside, before she helped Charon push the goggles up onto his forehead, making what was left of his ginger hair stick up every-which-way; but who knew the towering guy would suit the dishevelled look, it was quite sexy actually. Though once she got him settled on the ground, she set up a small campfire outside the shack, and cooked up some watery soup with her meagre ingredients, since she hadn't had chance to stop and butcher any of her kills after encountering Charon.

Even though he eyed her a little suspiciously... not that Six could blame him, considering how they'd found him... he let her help him eat before she settled him onto the rickety couch inside the shack. She kicked sand over the fire to smother the embers, before barricading the door the best she could. There were still several missing patches in the splintered wood, but Six figured she could use them as spy holes. However, despite her reassurances, Charon refused to sleep, but once again, she couldn't blame him. She'd been hyper alert for months after being shot in the head, and supposed she still was, since the slightest shuffling sound from outside had her spying through one of the cracks. What she saw almost made her shiver.

“Fuck!” she muttered, barely under her breath. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Charon gave a grunt that sounded like an enquiry.

“Ferals,” she explained, turning to face him. “A whole fucking lot of them. Really fucking hope they don't smell me anytime soon. The fuckers. Far too fucking many for me to deal with, so tell me if you have any ideas how to get out of this one, Babe. Because I ain't got a fucking clue.”

* * *

The command... the only one his employer had issued since acquiring his contract... took hold. Charon's mouth opened on it's own volition, and despite how he wanted to keep the memory private, the order forced him to grit out:

“You need to smell like me. My... semen would have best effect.”

“Really?” she asked, sounding more intrigued than suspicious. “Wonder if that's something Arcade knows, or Raul. Hmm... so this just a working theory, or have you had physical proof?”

“It works,” he said, gruffly.

“So it's a method you've used before?”

“Yes,” he ground out.

“How'd you want to go about this?”

Charon flinched at her words. Shocked at his employer's simple acceptance of what he'd just said, and how she seemed completely unphased by it. He felt like he must have been gaping at her in shock. Perhaps he was, since she hurried said:

“Oh shit! Fuck! Sorry, hunny. I thought because you'd said... fuck! Doesn't matter. Shit. Sorry, daddy was a raider. Didn't get taught a whole lot of manners growing up, but I ain't going to fuck you if you don't want to. Sure, I have loose morals but I ain't that fucked up.” She stopped to flash him a smile. “Sorry. Boone says I ramble when I'm worried. Guess the bastard's right. Anyway... you say this method works. Do you want to try it?”

“It's an option, Mistress,” he replied, making himself maintain eye contact.

She gave him a feline grin. “It's Six. I think we should get to know each other a little better, before we get into that sort of kink. Don't you?”

Charon was fairly sure that despite everything he could remember going through, all the shit he'd seen... and even some of the memories he'd made with Hope... that he'd have blushed at her insinuation if his twisted skin still had the ability to do so. Instead, he cleared his throat a little awkwardly, trying to ignore the humour dancing in her green eyes.

“Only physical violence negates my contract. I am yours to command,” he said, dutifully.

“That's not how consent works. Regardless of whatever this fucked up contract-thing is, that we probably need to discuss if you're so bound up by it. But I'm more bothered about getting you fixed up first, which means getting passed the ferals. I know I don't have enough bullets for them all, and they move too fast for me to hit hard enough, not to mention you're using me as a human crutch...” She trailed off to give him another bright grin. “Don't tell Boone he was right, okay? But let's start over. Hi, I'm Six. Do you want to fuck?”

“You... don't have to fuck me,” Charon stated, trying to pick his words carefully. “You just need my semen. But I'm unable to do that for you.”

He raised his arms slightly, hoping to make his point. He didn't want his employer to think he was trying to take advantage of the situation. She hadn't mentioned any sort of punishment yet, but it was never a good idea to push an employer, especially too early.

“Alright. You don't want sex,” she shrugged. “Can't say I'm not a little disappointed. I bet you're a hell of a ride. Is a blow job okay?”

Charon practically choked on his own tongue in shock.

“What? I enjoy having men at my mercy,” she winked, coming to perch next to him. “Seriously though, what are you okay with? I wish I could offer slow, but I don't really know how long...”

She shut up abruptly at the sound of scratching at the barricaded door, and Charon's arms wrapped around her instinctively. He pulled her into his lap and hunched over her protectively, even as he grit his teeth in pain. He tried to breath through the agony in his wrists, his eyes screwed shut, until he felt soft lips brush against his temple then cheekbone.

“Shit! Charon. Babe. Shit. Sorry I don't have anything for the pain,” she whispered, one of her hands moving to gently caress the other side of his face. “But thank you. I think they've got bored for now.”

He unfurled slowly, cautiously; because of the pain in his wrists, as much as the threat outside. He glanced around the shack, watching the shadows dancing in the flickering light cast from the cracked oil lamp she'd lit earlier, and realised it wouldn't take much for a horde of ferals to smash through the weathered wood. They... _she_... was a sitting duck. His gaze fell back to his employer. She'd arranged herself so she now straddled his lap, and her hands moved to cradle his face surprisingly gently. It was so reminiscent of another time, that tears threatened to form.

“Guess you lost someone too,” she whispered, gently.

Unable to help it, Charon gave her an enquiring look.

“Not me. My friend Boone,” she said, before softly murmuring: “Let me take care of you.”

Charon hesitated, before nodding slowly. Sure it was phrased as an order, but it was soft. Gentle. Dispite the contract's urging, he knew it was a request rather than an order. He had no idea if her idea of 'taking care of him', was the same as Hope's had been... but then she leant in and kissed him gently. There was no mistaking that it wasn't Hope. Six smelt different, tasted different when her tongued coaxed his into a languid dance, and felt different when he carefully tried to wrap his throbbing arms around her. But she halted his movements by gently pushing his biceps, until his arms rested more comfortably over her thighs.

“Doc would kill me if I let you mess your wrists up any more than they are,” she murmured against his lips. “So just relax a little, okay?”

Once again, it seemed the contract didn't quite know how to handle such a gentle command, that was more request than order. Which left Charon biting back a small groan, instinctively tilting his head back when she began to kiss along his jaw and down his neck, whilst one of her hands reached to toy with some of his messy hair.

“You suit these,” she whispered, a fingernail lightly tapping the glass of the goggles still resting on his head. “You're sexy anyway. But they help the image.”

Charon huffed a small, disbelieving laugh. Just how the hell had he ended up with two employers that were equally mad as each other?

“Crazy smoothskin,” he muttered, more fondly than he'd intended.

* * *

Six carefully clambered off Charon, mindful of his injured arms, but not as gracefully as she'd have liked. Though in her defence, it was hard to be graceful when you were trying not to get your harness stuck on someone else's combat armour. But she slid to kneel between his parted legs easily enough, her hands slowly massaging his muscular thighs. Charon looked down at her with the same sorrowful look Boone had regarded her with, when she'd helped ease some of his loneliness a few months ago, and she smiled up at him softly. It was flattering that Charon was watching her, instead of closing his eyes and thinking of who he'd lost like Boone had done; though she wouldn't have begrudged him. But still, Six couldn't deny she preferred how Charon watched as her hands slid higher, and how he didn't hesitate to let her unfasten his trousers, before slowly shuffling to the edge of the couch so it was easier for her to manoeuvre the material down to his knees. And it was certainly gratifying to find he was already partially aroused, so she gave him a cheeky wink, before she dipped down and took the tip of him into her mouth. It only took a few sucking kisses until his length was more than impressive; though she toyed with him a little longer, just so she could listen it his shuddering breaths.

“Can I ride you?” she murmured.

Her lips still grazed him as she spoke, and she grinned when Charon gave a low groan before nodding. The grin became a smirk as he watched with surprisingly rapt attention, as she kicked off her boots, then dropped her harness and jeans in one go; if something bad happened, it wouldn't be the first time Six had fought for her life naked... but that was an incident that both she and Arcade had vowed to never speak of again. Besides, it would make spreading Charon's come over her easier, later on. So she slunk back to him, still smirking as his milky eyes roamed her toned body, before she straddled him again. Slowly, Six rocked back and forth, causing the length of him to slide maddeningly against her.

“I should do something for you,” he rumbled, sounding surprisingly apologetic.

Six lightly squeezed his shoulders. “I think you can be forgiven.”

She leant in, kissing his lips to silence whatever he was obviously about to argue, before she rocked forward just so, pushing the tip of him inside her heat. Six smirked against Charon's thin lips, as his breath suddenly puffed over her face at the sensation, before she slowly rolled and rocked her hips until he was fully seated inside her; the textured feel and the stretch because of him was delicious.

“You feel amazing,” she murmured.

He huffed out what sounded like a laugh, making her grin.

“Fast or slow?” she asked, gently.

“Whatever you want, Miss... Six.”

“Well remembered,” she chuckled.

* * *

Charon was surprised that instead of moving like he expected her to, Six wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, whilst her other drifted down her lithe body, until her fingers rested on the the bundle of nerves that Hope had taught him was very important. So he watched the speed she touched herself with, gauged the pressure from the tautness in her forearm. Trying to catalogue what made her sigh, and arch, and squeeze around him in case... in case they ever found themselves in a similar situation; or even one that wasn't quite so fraught with danger and closely guarded memories. After all, Hope had tried to make him look at the world in a different light, and Charon couldn't deny that Six seemed to have the same gentle quality Hope had.

She suddenly clenched around him, derailing his thoughts, and all Charon could do was hiss out a strangled groan of her name. It was pure willpower that had kept him still for so long, but now he needed to move. Desperately. Thankfully, Six didn't play any games; though the glint in her eyes said she certainly would under the right circumstances. But it had been too long since he'd had anything like this, so Charon only thrust up a few times before he had to warn her how close he was. Six responded by agilely slipping off him, and just two more strokes by her clever hands had him groaning his release.

He cracked his eyes open to find her stood between his still parted thighs, smoothing his semen across her breasts and shoulders. Oddly, she didn't even wrinkle her nose at what couldn't have been a nice sensation, and Charon couldn't help staring at his crazy smoothskin.

“What? I've done weirder,” she chuckled, when she noticed him watching.

“Me or the...” Charon managed to shut his mouth before he said anything more; Hope had always teased that orgasms made him loose lipped.

“Nothing weird about a stud like you,” Six replied, without missing a beat.

Charon shook his head. She was definitely one crazy smoothskin.

“Besides, if you're interested, I wouldn't mind you helping finish what you started. Once Doc's patched you up,” she grinned.

He was saved from having to answer immediately, by Six leaning in and kissing his lips softly.

“Think about it, alright?”

The order was once again made without her even thinking, but Charon couldn't begrudge her it. After all, they'd only met that afternoon, she hadn't had weeks to think about it like Hope had. And as she carefully rearranged his trousers for him, before getting dressed herself, Charon decided he wouldn't close himself off to the possibility of whatever this could be... because he knew Hope wouldn't have wanted him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by some of Coteobscur's artwork, so this chapter is dedicated to them (you can find their work here: alia.du.couteau.psn)


	8. Wiseman/Sole

When a pretty human brunette had wandered onto his farm, Wiseman had only been mildly curious about her; mostly because she looked far too clean to be out wandering the Commonwealth. She was travelling light, only had a dog for company, and had a Pipboy strapped over the cuff of her leather jacket... which was worn over a not too shabby set of mechanics overalls. But when she asked for directions, explaining she was aiming to help a neighbouring farm out with a feral problem, Wiseman found his mouth running away with him. Really, he mostly offered to accompany her because of the way she'd worded the explanation. Feral problem... not ghoul problem. She'd seemed wary, but had accepted his offer after he explained he didn't mind helping out his neighbours; stating it had been a common occurrence back before the bombs. There'd been a strange look in her brown eyes after he mentioned the war, but she'd just nodded her agreement and let him mark the National Guard Training Yard on her Pipboy map before they set off. She wasn't exactly chatty on their walk... more hyper vigilant... but he learnt her name was Nora, and that the Minutemen were reforming and had asked her to look into the problem Greentop Nursery was having. However, despite knowing they were heading to exterminate some ferals, Wiseman hadn't expected the Training Yard to be quite so overrun, and although they ignored him, his companion was like a beacon for them; and her dog didn't fare much better. So by the time he'd emptied the fourth clip of .38 bullets from his pipe pistol, Wiseman realised they really needed a new plan of attack. Nora must had come to the same conclusion, because she shouted his name before taking off towards a small concrete building, with her dog hot on her heels. Wiseman joined them moments later, and helped her barricade the door with the meagre furniture that was dotted about the small room. It wasn't exactly an ideal refuge, but it would buy them enough time for Nora to inject herself and her dog with several Stimpacks at least.

“So... the Slog is an interesting name,” she commented, obviously trying to appear nonchalant, despite peering out of the miraculously still intact window.

Wiseman chuckled; he couldn't blame her for wanting to take her mind off the ferals whilst they caught their breath. “It suits it. We're the only tarberry bog in the Commonwealth. What do you think of it?”

“It's... nice?” she replied, ducking back out of sight of the window. “I wouldn't really know.”

“Yeah... didn't think you had the look of a farmer about you,” he drawled. “More the city type I'd say... what with that smooth, clean skin.”

“Something like that...” Nora muttered, distractedly, furtively peeking out of window again. “Is my skin really worth mentioning?”

“You probably noticed it's only ghouls in the Slog,” Wiseman stated, slowly.

Nora looked at him them, tilting her head to the side. Studying him. “Is that what you are? Ghouls?”

He huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Been living in a vault?”

“Define living,” she muttered, darkly, her gaze snapping back to the window.

“Damn site more comfortable than the ghouls of Diamond City, I'd imagine,” he replied, perhaps more gruffly than he intended.

Nora glared at him. “Wanna trade places? You can witness your entire world come to an end, be shoved into cryogenic storage against your will, wake up long enough to see your husband murdered and son kidnapped, before being spat out of the pod fuck knows how long later into this hell hole?”

Wiseman barely resisted gaping at her in shock, as the brunette leant against the concrete wall; dragging a hand down her face and blowing out a controlled breath. Whatever he'd been expediting her to say, that had not been it. Of course, he'd lived through the bombs and the fallout too, but despite the experience of feeling his body burn and mutate, Wiseman was pretty sure he'd rather have lived what he had, then experience what Nora had.

“Sorry. None of this shit is your fault,” she apologised. “But it's been one hell of a fortnight.”

“Sounds it,” he replied, hesitantly.

“I'm supposed to be making my way to Diamond City, apparently there's a detective there that might be there to help me,” Nora explained, glancing out the window again.

“Yet here you are taking care of a feral problem,” Wiseman observed, dryly.

“Trying to... funny how that happened,” she replied, with no humour in her tone.

But then Nora was jumping back from the window like a deathclaw was charging her, and a moment later, a rotting feral slammed against the reinforced glass; it's useless milky eyes staring blindly into their little bolthole. Without really thinking, Wiseman reached for Nora with one hand, curling his arm protectively around her shoulders, whilst his other grabbed the dog's chain collar, holding the hound back from launching itself at the feral behind the glass. Nora reached across him to lay a calming hand on the dog's head, despite the fact her whole body trembled... whether from fright or adrenaline, Wiseman wasn't sure.

“Okay, tell me why those fuckers didn't even notice you out there?” she muttered, jerking tensely when the feral banged on the window.

“Pheromones, I think,” he replied, holding her a little tighter. “Or that was the last theory I heard from the researchers at the Science Centre, when ghouls were still allowed in Diamond City.”

“Is there anyway we can make me smell like you then?” Nora asked, her eyes trained on the feral that was slowly losing interest.

Wiseman cleared his throat awkwardly. “Several.”

* * *

Nora tilted her head, looking up at the man... ghoul, apparently... that had wrapped his arm protectively around her shoulders; and when his black eyes met her gaze, she instinctively knew what these 'several' scenarios were. Despite his warped and obviously burnt skin, his fused ears and missing nose, surprisingly, he wasn't unattractive. Different looking, but not off putting. He was also soft spoken, charismatic and attentive. Perhaps in another time or place she'd have been genuinely interested, but it was too soon after Nate. However, if it was the only way they were getting out of this situation...

“No intercourse,” she said, quietly. Her eyes suddenly stinging with unshed tears. “I only buried Nate two weeks ago, and we hadn't... not since Shaun was born...”

Wiseman's arm gently tightened around her, effectively giving her a one armed hug. “You don't have to do anything.”

“If you're offering what I think you are, you're doing it for me, so unless _you're_ not happy, the least I can do is lend a hand,” she tried to joke, before turning to her hound. “Dogmeat, guard the window.”

The dog gave a growl of confirmation, though Wiseman gave her an incredulous look. “Dogmeat?”

“I didn't name him,” Nora defended. “And he won't respond to anything else. So... how do you want to do this.”

“You really don't need to do anything,” he stated, gently. “I didn't bring it up to force you into something.”

“I know,” she admitted, fully turning to face him. “But I'd be uncomfortable not at least helping.”

“You're uncomfortable now,” Wiseman observed, leaning back to rest against the wall.

Nora gave him a small, wry smile. “More uncomfortable, then.”

For a long, drawn out moment, his black eyes seemed to search her face, before he reached up and gently cupped her cheek. “Is a kiss okay?”

The smile she gave him in reply was much more honest, and she cradled his ravaged face in her hands, before leaning in to capture his thin lips. Wiseman was a lot closer to her height than Nate had been, so she didn't have to strain as she pressed herself to the side of his body; wilfully trying not to compare him to her dead husband. His kiss was slow and gentle, and only deepened when she ran her tongue slowly along the seam of his mouth, requesting entrance. Wiseman's arm snaked around her waist then, and as their kiss continued, Nora heard the telltale sound of a zip being undo. Even though his lips never left hers, she felt his hot breath puff across her face, as he presumably started to pleasure himself; and after a few minutes of deliberation, as their kisses turned slightly more heated, Nora let one of her hands travel down his toned and solid feeling chest. He broke their kiss to look at her, his gaze intense and questioning, as her hand joined his much larger one.

“You sure?” he asked, his toned taking on a gravelly edge. “I don't expect.”

Nora nodded and offered a small smile, touched by his obvious concern for her, before she leant back in and captured his lips again. She knew if she thought about it too much, she'd likely break down in tears, but it felt... right, to help him. Wiseman was doing this for her benefit, after all. So she concentrated on the task literally at hand, focusing on the way their fingers twined together, and the feeling of the unusual texture of his skin against hers, the weight of him in her hand, and the heat as she followed the rhythm he'd set. The arm wrapped around her tightened it's hold, pulling her impossibly close, and he groaned against her lips. The speed of their strokes quickened, and Nora kissed him with vigour; breathing in the earthy scent of soil that clung to his clothes, and tasting a faint hint of Nuka Cola as their tongues shared a passionate dance. He squeezed her tightly as he tensed, his whole body going rigid as he climaxed. Nora moved so the hand that had been cupping his withered cheek could join the one wrapped around his length, in the hopes of catching as much of his release as possible. Unable to help it, she chuckled at the absurdity of it all, prompting Wiseman to smile at her.

“You alright?” he asked, in between heaving breaths.

Without even thinking, she leant in to give him a lingering kiss... even as she began to smear his come across her leather jacket... before she rested her forehead against his; offering him a slightly wavering smile as he reached up, and gently tucked several strands of hair gentle behind her ear.

“I will be,” she assured, before quietly adding: “Thank you.”


End file.
